#and theres no where to go here so no desire to use the car we had to do anything etc

[skunkes]

Really wishing id been able to start driving right after i got my license at age 18 and not um when i finally was able to get my own cawr at age 25 bc im not gonna lie to u i really have forgotten everything

[kelly-danger]

Have you even been inside the part of the mall thats a secret pasageway of concrete? Its like something out of a dream, like walking through the nothingness of it there is no substance. I cant actually remember if ive been there or simply dreampt of it. Someone posted a picture of one on four chan and developed the idea of the "Back rooms" a place where you go if you accidentally clip out of reality walking through endless hallways of flourescent lights. And its terrifying. I think that the utility of something so empty, a place where you pass to others, its horrifying and its everywhere. The world is completely full of diversions to cause us not to realize the emptiness of reality. But the monotony always comes back to us.

I watched cronenbergs crash recently and read some essays about jg ballard and baudrillards views on the book the inspired the movie. I think for ballard the true reality is that the spectacle itaepf is very real and very riveting. That the car crash snaps the reader out of the state of liminality, of highway hipnosis to ask themself, "whats actually going on here". The horror of the highway becomes hyperreal and the desire for death overcomes people, the desire for a return to earth and away from mechanistic living. But this horror is also spectacular, as is the nature of the spectacle.

Lately ive become fascinated with malls.

The american mall is something that has defined american culture for at least the last 50 years. And its dying. You no longer have to go into the back rooms of a mall to feel the emptiness. The colonial park mall in harrisburg is a great example of this, and its truely a riveting experience to walk through. 90% of the businesses are closed, the lights are dim, it reminds me of a prison. There is a pet shop, a store that sells islamic style clothes, a suit store, a bubble tea place, theres the best teriyaki place in the area and a jewlery shop. And thats it really. One hall branches off that contains absolutely nothing except these butterfly sculptures that used to hang in a shoping center downtown (also mostly empty now). Theres something fantastic about being in a full mall. Truely there is this idea enshrined of the creation of the self through consumption. Culture is no longer about the act of creation but the act of consumption. We made god in our image before this came about, which maybe is why the god of the reformation became so hungry. And heaven was described to me as a place where the streets are Paved with gold. I feel like the density and traction of that material would cause issues.

Ok so what am I actually saying. The thing is that baudrillards analysis of ballard is to say that this is all a simulacrum. That crashing cars is not sexy or exciting, he reads into ballard a kind of aversion to his own subject material. To him there is a fakeness or artifice to driving cars. Cars reveal that we are living some kind of collective delusion and were so repressed that we crash into eachother just to feel something. The thing is that Ballard does think crashing cars is sexy, or at least his character does, its exciting its fantastic. It is something that brings us closer to understanding reality fully.

"Abstraction today is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal" ("The Precession of Simulacra" 2)."

Ok but so im confused. Maybe baudrillard views thinking car crashes are sexy as a kind of model, something false projected on the world. Car crashes are very real though. Conspicuous consumtion is a very real thing. Our thoughts about it become subverted through traditional ideas. Having things is a way to asert your sense of self. In the past expression was created as art as tools as clothing by yourself or those close to you. Buying is a fascimile for the act of creating. But buying is very real.

So what then is the meaning of an empty mall or empty road. What happens when the society of the spectacle disappears and only leaves bones behind. You xan see it taking over americas malls like a disease. Typically you have your bigger name brands like hnm, forever 21, spencers, journey. But you turn a corner and there is a hallway filled with a store that sells essential oils, a place where you buy mystery boxes that were returned to amazon, a store that sells spirts jerseys anime t shirts and very cheap looking knives. You imagine to yourself, is the mall just trying to fill space? Are they giving these stores relly cheap rent? And then you go to the truely dead malls and theyre all thats left. I went to a mall once that had died in alamogordo new mexico. in it was a book store that had filled the middle hallway of the mall with book shelves. It was infecting the space like a disease! Other than a somewhat robust food court all this mall had aside from that was one of the aforementioned anime knife stores.

So whats the deal? Amazon killed the mall? Stagnating wages? I mean everyone I know thrifts. Even though capitalist american society is kind of horrifying, and extremely alienating its also very exciting. Its kind of weird to just watch it all die and be left with literal emptiness. If we live in a society of spectacle what are we left with as spectacle begins to break down? Its so hard to afford anything these days especially cars, especially to buy new things as a pastime. I think we live in a unique time in america because what were seeing is a complete breakdown of the systems around which pur society has been built. There is a liminality to highways and malls that will only become more clear as they become more empty and we will not be able to tear our eyes away from the concrete skeleton wondering just what did we create. In crash ballard says he realizez how many more cars there are on the road after his first crash. I think empty malls make you realize how full malls usually are. The consuming act is dying out and god will die with it.

[solardick]

To find meaning in letters to attach an image.

Letter 21. To tarot, the world card. Letter У(oo) To english and latin. To be mistaken for judgement of the letter Y.

English letter 21, U. Obvious meaning of the one letter word, you.

Curious. Is it not?

One syllable russian words starting with letter У.

To tarot in the absence of vowels is letter Z. The two letters placed together are UZ. The russian word Уз(ооz) is;

Agree? So far, so good. But wait.

Before we go further. Lets see what google says. Tsh tsh.

Section 32. By cyclic repetition is letter H the lover(s). Or soft sign letter ь. Ep 16. The tower. Section 28, letter B(v). Or russian letter Ы. Section 21. The world. Da fuk? No, theres no BS here.

Pst. I am threatening your system? What about the film I.S.S.? Where has my “environemtal safety been these last 39 years?disnt america drop a bomb on an entire city of civilians who are still producing mutant children? But never mind all that its not important.

To continue. Maybe later. Ill list all the words they gave me on wiki. And we’ll peace them all together. But we’ll waste another pic slot for this. Look at this. Its insane tonight.

I dont have the power to distinguish or pronounce the letter ь from no letter ь. And конь is a male horse but, Лошадь means a horse of any gender. Their dictionary must be HUGE. Sorry its an eephus pitch. Though its not a word in this dictionary.

Though the suggestion is that the lover card is a man. Fallowed by the chariot card being a woman. Or driven by a woman. But whatever. In that case the lover card should be changed to appraisal. But since i dont drive. A woman driver seems ok to me. Chauff me wench! Onwards! And so far thats how it seems to be. For letter Ж comes in conjunction to the cahriot card. And that works too for cars are usually gendered as female. Even though english doesnt have a gender grammar system. So men step up inside the womanamd shes the force moving him forward. The problem there is that he’s controlling the woman’s body. While he’s thinking of all the buttons he gets to push with relish. And doesnt care about the deeper implications of being that vessel on the road. Which is a reason why men are more attuned to deeper sounding engines. Gender classing objects is a dubious endeavour. It all cones back to the it/they dilemma of personifying inanimate objects.

To further this sidetracking from google. And bringing it back to UZ. Is Utility. Use. Up. And automobiles in russia have always been lacking that desirable sexual hype.

The propositional accusative case of letter У suggests the same though with the added distinction of being with. У as a single letter word. The most powerful of all is, satisfactorily defined as being in, or With, the immediate proximity by being or having the subject or object of the question in the process of being answered. У меня. У тебя. I have. You have. I am with what i have. I do not necessarily own it. I have a car. I am not with my car. У меня есть машина. This keeps the person in question separate from the subject.

So is there a choice here. Or is it being premeditated by outside influences?

Words included one-syllable words starting with У are; limb, bond,ties , (horse)briddle, urn, ballot box, litter bin, wiskers, antennae, to float, to swim, Morning, dawn, to shoe. Though most of these aren’t standard but forms of grammar variations. While to some of the other nations using these same words based of the same proto-form-language mean variations negative things, like devils and death and so on. And word Уз, to My mistake isnt actually russian. It’s Serbia-Croatian. The mistake was corrected further down with the single letter word У. Which is the same thing. Word for word.

Not sure if i hit that slow ball or not. But all these words put together ontop of the world card Z. And you. Paints a picture of control and the extension of the body.

On a separate thought in conjunction to the russian cease fire on ukraine and my mis-information post. Which ended rather badly.

[heartfulofsighs]

Night Rides

Hi all! 

It’s been forever but I am back and writing again I suppose. I wrote this specifically for @negrowhat​ when I tossed around the idea of Hanse being an Incubus. So yeah I did that set it against a cool street racer backdrop and here we are. There will be a second part because it just got so incredibly long. Hope you guys enjoy! Find Part 2 Here

Warnings: None really actually, theres some kissing, also don’t street race this is fiction. About 6k words. 

Pleasure... He worried the little silver ring piercing at the corner of his mouth while he stared at the race course for that night. The warehouse district could be tricky and his eyebrows furrowed at the hairpin turn near the end. “Worried?” The voice sent a shiver of sheer pleasure down his spine and he hated that he couldn’t stop his reaction. He was suppose to cause people to shiver, one look and he could bring anyone to their knees begging for him. But here you were, saying one word, knocking his thoughts all around. He turned and narrowed his eyes, “I’m never worried.” Did you feel it too? He had been alone near the very edge of where people parked before gathering. He hoped to win and find a new partner. Someone he could take just a little energy from.  He felt himself getting weak, his senses weren’t as sharp and his control was dismal compared to normal. It was dangerous for him to be this tired and drained. Simple actions that he wouldn’t have noticed otherwise were heightened when he felt like this. 

That explained why he was suddenly so focused on your mouth. When you passed your tongue over your lips he almost groaned. He could imagine with vivid clarity leaning down to trace your lips with his own tongue. He imagined you being receptive, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his neck…

He had to resist. He passed his hand over his face in order to break the pull he thought he was feeling. It should be easy, he just had to remind himself that you hated him. Whenever he did use his powers to feel you out there was a definite animosity. He wondered what your dislike tasted of. When he was close enough a person’s strong emotions acted on more of his senses. He went from feeling the emotion, to smelling it and tasting it on his tongue.   He wanted to taste what all your emotions flavors. Especially the rare times, when he looked at you and felt something different. He had caught a wanting, a longing, a needing feeling that made his mind blank. It was hard to ignore, it felt like you wanted him to be closer but he was never sure. It was so rare he forced himself to dismiss it. There were other people milling about, other partners he could easily charm but he decided to stay put. He put his phone away and turned all the way towards you. On race days you usually dressed casual like you were going to the gym. The leggings were distracting, he could see every curve. His hand would fit perfectly on your waist. “Are you nervous?” He asked, he stepped just a little closer and crossed his arms over his chest, “you’re number....” he made a thinking face waiting for you to fill in the information that he already knew. Your face scrunched into an annoyed frown. So cute, so tempting. His fantasy started playing again, all his senses were focused in on your body. Your temperature was rising, and he thought maybe there was that hint of desire. “Six.” Spoken clearly in a voice he wanted to hear his own name in. If he concentrated hard enough he could imagine you saying it several ways. Maybe breathy, maybe needy... He rubbed his chin, “breaking top five tonight?” when he cocked his head and looked into your eyes he couldn’t help but push a little with his power to feel your emotions. Mistake. The wanting clouded his senses and he had to step back suddenly. He covered his mouth and turned towards his car, “good luck.” He choked out. He wanted to lace different words with power and charm you… “Are you ok?” The concern in your voice was real but he couldn’t turn back around. It was way too dangerous. If he kissed you now neither of you would make it to the race.

You watched his back retreat past his car and into another clutch of people. He had just dismissed you without another word, just ran off as if you were the most disgusting thing. You picked the edge of your sweatshirt up and bent to smell the fabric. Maybe your kitten had sprayed on it? He was still getting the hang of the litter box and it had happened before... Nothing. You clenched your jaw. He had to be playing some kind of joke, something to throw your mind off the race. You should have never talked to him. All you had to do was park and wait until you were called. Something made you talk to him. Instead of doing the smart thing there you were. Getting out, starting a useless conversation. When you raised your head you saw him in slide into another clutch of people chatting with a girl. Hiis profile was so sharp, lips upturned in a constant smile. She was hanging on his every word just that quick. When he spoke to you his smile was different, his voice was different, and you wondered what made him so careful. You stood around alone staring down at your phone as the races filled up. You were going back and forth between following him and staying standing alone. It seemed forever until your phone buzzed but when it did you were relieved. It stopped you from doing something stupid.   “Ready? Park at the start.” The text message flashed against your screen just as you finished mapping the course. A familiar batch of butterflies fluttered in your stomach, you loved the before race jitters. They stopped your worrying about Hanse. When it came down to race time there was nothing else in your mind. You got into your car and blasted your favorite song. Your hands tapped on the wheel to the beat and you bobbed your head. There was nothing like race day, the exhilaration was always fresh, like it was the first time you had ever put your hands on the wheel. When you had felt it for the first time you had decided you had to keep chasing it.  You looked over the map one last time on your phone, the hairpin at the end was going to be tricky. You had to make sure you took the turn tight, had to make sure you watched your inside...

He was to the right of you when you looked up. His eyes were focused on you in a way that made you squirm. It felt like you were falling, that pull that made you angry. Why was he so alluring? It had to be the way his face was open but an inch away from mysterious at any given moment. When he laughed it felt like the joke was one that only he understood. The more you tried to understand it the more frustrated you got. He smiled then licked his lips like he was hungry. You felt it in the pit of your stomach.   “Good luck.” He revved his engine and looked away. Top five, you just really wanted to crack the top five. Beating him would be a plus but top 5 was the goal.

Most races felt incredibly fast but incredibly slow at the same time. You had to make decisions in an instant, had to trust in what you felt as soon as you felt it. Because you were concentrating so hard, it felt slower than real time. You led with Hanse on your bumper the entire race. The hairpin was your last hurdle and maybe if you had been more concentrated, more alert you would have executed it perfectly. But he took the opportunity to turn inside of your line. He slipped past you and came out nose ahead of you for the win. “You fucking dick,” you whispered under your breath. You had come in second, enough to move up to 5th but it was no fun if you didn’t beat Hanse. Especially after he tried to mess with your head beforehand. The curses kept flowing, under your breath you called him all sorts of names hoping he could at least sense how angry  you were and how inconvenient he was being. The small loose crowd of people at the finish line surrounded his car, hyping him up calling his name. He hopped out like some sort of celebrity. Giving a loud whoop and blowing kisses to the crowd, no one was ever that excited when you won. Around here you were tolerated, not hated, but definitely not loved. Your phone buzzed again, it had slipped during the race down onto the passenger floor. You cursed as your hand slapped around for it, just out of reach. The crowd sounded like it was going down. Maybe he had picked someone to celebrate with. Your fingers finally brushed it, with a little stretch you were pulling yourself to sit up. “Congratulations on breaking top 5.” The message read. You smiled down at it and sighed, even with Hanse being annoying you had accomplished your goal. Better to look at the whole thing as a positive then get hung up on him acting weird. Besides it wasn’t a bad thing for him to dislike you when you thought about it. God forbid you ever became caught up, like all the race groupies that showed up at the finish line.

Sometimes the girls who eyed him looked so incredibly struck like he was their whole world. There was no way you wanted to follow him around like some sort of lost puppy. When you looked up he  was staring back at you. It took a lot not to stick out your tongue like a spoiled child. You could be mature. You could muster being an adult because the hassle wasn’t worth it. It was time to go home and celebrate, not dwell.  

Your apartment was nice and toasty. It was raining outside the perfect opportunity to sit on your couch and sip tea.   Besides wanting to win for the sake of it, the races kept you alive in a city with scarce jobs that interested you. The money wasn’t raining in but it came in steadily enough to keep you off the streets. During the day you either worked part time at the tea shop down the street or looked at old race videos. There had been a time when you wanted to make friends with other racers, but it was a jealous boys club that barely tolerated you to begin with. You also didn’t fit in very well with the race groupies. Besides Hanse, the racers didn’t really tempt you at all. They tried their best to make you feel stupid, and when they weren’t doing that you were effectively ignored. In a way it was nice that Hanse took you seriously. You thought about him again. About how he looked last night, in all balck with his stupid smile. You rubbed your face and made a frustrated noise. The mental back and forth was irritating. Better to keep your head where it belonged. The organizers kept a private page with uploaded drone footage and it helped you to study each one. Your legs were tucked under you as you watched Hanse win over and over again. He had what looked like an inch to slip past you. A margin that you wouldn’t have taken. There was no way you could slip your car into that tight line without scraping someone. He made it seem effortless. The fact that your win had been snatched so close was incredibly annoying. Your kitten Jet played with the edge of your blanket. He bit and fiddled with it until you picked him up and tucked him into your lap. “Next time we can’t leave any space.” You scratched behind his ears and he purred. “Next time we’ve got to beat him.” You spoke out loud and hoped it would be an affirmation.

The very first time he met you he knew you would be trouble. He thought you would react like everyone else did. As an incubus his presence was like a magnet to humans. He had never seen you at the races before and he thought you might be fun to play with. He had strolled up, all confidence, and leaned over you to see what you were watching on your phone. “Oh yeah, that race was really good. The guy who won came all the way from behind.” He said slowly. When you turned and locked eyes with him, he had felt the shock. A pleasurable jolt that traveled all the way up then back down his spine. He found he couldn’t speak for a moment and his silence confused you. “Do I know you?” You had asked, your eyebrow raised in question. He cleared his throat and held out his hand, “I’m Hanse,” he pitched his voice to charm but you didn’t seem affected. In fact you studied his hand for a much longer beat then he expected. He remembered his heart pumping, he remembered actually being nervous. “Nice to me you I’m…” He committed your name to memory instantly. For some reason he was determined then to know you. You weren’t giving off any of the receptive emotions he was use to. Instead you had felt guarded and before he could get you to say anything else you went back to your phone. You were ignoring him, and so easily. No matter how cliche it felt he liked you more for it. Each encounter had you opening up a little more. You went from ignoring him after a few sentences to playfully bantering here and there. It felt like he was making progress but he was beginning to wonder why any type of progress made him so happy. That couldn’t be good, couldn’t be healthy. He tried to figure out what his endgame was.

He scratched his chin and tried to think about anything else. It was bright outside, the light was filtering in through his curtains across his face. The girl he had slept with last night was tucked into a restful fetal position, she was also hogging all the covers. He saw no point in waking her up, he was feeling blissful and a little lazy after feeding off of her energy. His control was back, the on edge feeling erased. Hopefully it would last longer then a day this time. It was beginning to worry him that he needed energy sooner and sooner after absorbing it from someone. In the past he would go a whole week after one night but now he was lucky if he got two days worth. The thought was worrying so he pushed it away. He just needed to make sure he kept on his guard. The girl in his bed shifted and groaned. He patted her head and she sighed. He always had to be so careful with the amount he took from someone. She turned over and smiled at him before she stretched and got up. He gazed after her and tried his best to remember her name.

The races were loud. The usual noises, talking and laughing, people shouting, engines revving. He had been so buoyant that morning but the feeling had dwindled. He chewed his lip ring and tried his best to just let the noises wash over him. There was comfort in the familiar. He came to the races for the thrill. Charming humans had gotten boring but using his heightened senses to really push a car to its limit was challenging. Plus it made for a good location to find partners. A win all around for him truly. There was a laugh that sort of sailed above the rest and his eyes snapped open. He had been trying to focus himself. It bothered him to feel you on the edge of his senses. Your energy was like a pulse to him the strength of it only grew when he got closer. He leaned forward to look out of his car window. He was sure you were close. In typical fashion you weren’t laughing with people, your eyes were firmly glued to your phone. You laughed again so loud that the one group of people around you looked over in curiosity. His hands were working at the lock on his door. He stepped out and tried not to head straight for you. That would be incredibly awkward. He wasn’t going to race today, he had only come to find someone new. He had rules about avoiding you but your laugh was pulling him closer and closer. By the time you looked up he was there. “Oh,” and your smile diminished. He could feel your heart pickup and he didn’t feel an outright wave of animosity. He cocked his head and tried to make his smile harmless, “hey,” he brushed some of his hair back, “are you up today?” He asked. You shook your head. “No,” you shoved your phone away, “what about you?” He heard what you said but he was also stuck on the way you were chewing your bottom lip. “No, but I was bored tonight so I came anyways.” He pushed his hands into his pockets, “guess I’ll have to bother you all night.” He chuckled and half expected you to be annoyed with the prospect. Instead you shrugged and indicated the vacant space next to you. “Sure, I’m not gonna stop you.” You said.

It was probably the worst idea to give into the curious pulling feeling you felt in your stomach. But it was hard to resist him when he cocked his head and smiled like that. He was in fitted dark jeans, Doc Martins, and a comfy looking white sweater. His legs looked a million miles long. Unfair.  His dark hair still looked damp presumably from a shower. You blushed thinking about it, do not imagine him in the shower…He shivered next to you and let out a deep sigh. The tug you felt around him was pulling tight. You leaned a little closer and put your hand on his arm, “you cold?” It was the only thing you could think to say. His mouth kicked up into a smirk, he shook his head, “really hot actually.” He blinked slowly, his tongue peeked out passing over his lower lip. His skin did feel really warm under your hand. You took your hand back, crossing them a little under your chest. It took a lot of will power for you to focus on anything but the tension. Look at the cars or the people laughing or- “Did you get anything to eat before you came?” He nibbled at his lip ring absently, “I’m kinda starving.” Don’t give in. You wouldn’t be able to survive the pull in a car. It was too close and even though you were mostly sure you wouldn’t beg for his touch, it was very very dangerous to chance it. As much as your mind was racking up all the reasons getting into the car with him was a bad idea there was the part of you that urged you to try racing in the first place. The adrenaline hungry part of your nature was whispering all sorts of ideas. If you can race a car through city streets multiple times and keep your nerve then what was riding with Hanse. Nothing. Not a single thing to worry about. “I guess I could eat.” You finally said, you stretched your arms over your head and tried your very best loosen up, “I can’t remember what I had for dinner.” “Awww, then we have to get something really good.” His eyes were sparking, the darkness in them seemed to glitter.

He licked his lips enjoying the roll of emotions you sent his way. They were like flavors on his tongue. First curiosity, sweet but subtle it made him want to lean over and taste more. Then there was the nervousness, butterflies, also subtle. He smacked his lips and savored the strongest flavor…lust. Truthfully it was the most familiar to him but at the same time coming from you it was much different. The effect was making him sluggish, the flavor starting to cloud his mind. “Can I roll down the window?” Your voice, far away. He nodded then became instantly angry that he agreed. The wind blasted your scent away and it returned some of his higher thought. Not a lot of higher thought but enough that he leaned more to his side of the car, he didn’t want to scare you away. He was hungry for you but not hungry enough to push too hard. “Do you do anything else besides race?” His hands were firmly on the wheel. “Like do you have a day job?” “A tea shop downtown.” When he looked over your eyes were gazing out of the window, “what about you? What do you do during the day?” You asked and the curious feeling he tasted before intensified. “Work on my car usually, sometimes I work on other people’s too for some extra cash.” And try to make sure whatever partner he had that night (if he had one) was ok before they left. He was an Incubus but that didn’t mean he had to be an asshole. He knew of others who could care less about their partners, who drained them until they could barely function. The idea made his skin crawled. Besides being a shitty thing to do, it definitely wasn’t smart. Eventually a human would get wise about why they were feeling so crappy after sex. None would make the leap that they were being attacked by a demon, but still they would realize something wasn’t right. The other’s of his kind lived nomadically. Wondering and feeding with no solid address. Because he wasn’t greedy it was easy to keep a little apartment, and even some friends. He was proud of the little life he had carved out for himself. “That sounds nice, I need to dedicate more time to tune ups.” You said. He took the corner a bit too quickly and felt a spike in your energy. Anger. He looked at you again, confusion etching his face. “Whats wrong?” He spoke before he realized maybe he shouldn’t have let on about feeling what you felt. “Nothing.” The word was firm. The anger spiked harder. There was a perfect spot near the restaurant, he paralleled smoothly into the space showing off a little. When he put his car into park he revved the engine until you glared at him. He couldn’t help himself he liked the way your anger tasted. “I said something that bothered you?” He asked. You set your lips and shook your head slowly. So stubborn. Anybody would be putty in his hands, melting, begging. “You didn’t say anything that bothered me.” The emphasis you put on ‘say’ made him lean forward. “I did something that made you upset?” The way you pursed your lips briefly before huffing out a breath. “You took a tighter line on the last turn.” Your eyebrows pulled together, “I was going to win.” He made a very exaggerated “oh” face, “second place still isn’t bad.” He played with his lip ring and shrugged, “you still cracked the top 5,” he lifted his hand and ever so gently tapped the tip of your nose, “you should be proud of yourself.” The touch stunned you in such a cute way. He could close the distance, the anger was mixing with something else. He leaned away and turned the car off, “aren’t you hungry?”

It felt like tides, rising, falling. Back then forth, push and pull. Maybe you would be dizzy with someone else but with Hanse it kept you engaged. He teased you but did it in such a way that you couldn’t muster up any real anger. You couldn’t decide if his flirting was just a joke or if it was him actually shooting his shot. “Why pancakes?” He asked. “Because I like breakfast food,” you started cutting your pancakes purposefully, “it’s good any time of day.” “A little rebel.” He mused. You poured syrup and shook your head, “pancakes don’t make me a rebel.” “Being in the races does.” He countered then sipped from his milkshake. You frowned. “Don’t make that face,” He warned, “It’s way too cute.”  Then without skipping a beat, “you really work on your on car?” You let the cute comment go and nodded, “yeah and I buy my own parts, I have to work on it myself.” You spoke in between bites. “Keeps me busy.” Your lips felt sticky from the syrup and you took a moment to lick your them. “Who taught you about cars,” when you looked up he was leaning forward, his focus was very clear. He was watching your mouth pointedly. “The internet.”  The sentence didn’t come out as snarky as you wanted it to be. All your snark evaporated apparently when he looked at you like you were a treat. Your stomach felt like it was tied into shivering knots. There was the curiosity pulling you to lean forward and forget about your pancakes. “You can really learn a lot on the world wide web.” It was his turn to laugh, “I guess you’re right.” He granted. He looked down at your plate, “be nice,” he leaned in, your heart picked up speed, “let me have the last bite?” It was like a scene out of one of those cheesy romance movies. You speared the last few pieces and floated the fork towards his mouth. He had such a nice mouth, it was unfair in a way. Attractive and funny, the universe really gave other people all the gifts. He opened his mouth and bit down, an appreciative hum came from him while he chewed. “Good?” You asked, knowing that he was either going to say something funny or something to make you burn hotter than you already were. “I really like sweet things.” He kept his eyes on you and it felt like you weren’t out in public at a little cafe. He traced his finger down your hand and seemed satisfied when you shivered. “Instead of going back to the races,” he started to trace his finger back up as he spoke, “we can head to my place and see what else is sweet?”

You didn’t say no. It would have been impossible and in the end pointless. There was nothing wrong with exploring this feeling. The lusting part of you explained away your willingness easily. A one night stand with Hanse wasn’t going to kill you. Not sleeping with him wasn’t going to win you any awards either. So you might as well give in and treat yourself to something nice. He drove with one hand on your thigh and you didn’t protest the contact. The warm weight of his hand made your stomach flutter. His head bobbed to the music on the radio and he beamed pleasantly. Every so often he gave you thigh a little squeeze, and the flutter in your stomach happened decidedly lower in your body when he did that. “Can I ask you something?” He glanced over at you and nodded, “sure.” “The other day before the race we were talking, and then you just turned and walked away,” He made a thinking face then blushed. You couldn’t believe it, but yes, that was a blush. The color spread from his ears to his cheeks. Now you really had to know, “are you blushing?” “It’s embarrassing.” He offered. “Tell me!” You sat up straighter and waited, “please? You can’t blush like that and not say why.” It felt like he was stalling. Which made you want to know even more. He turned into a parking structure and revved the engine again. The ramp was curved and he took it fast enough to make you sit back. Round and round, up and up until he got near the top. His parking spot was right near the elevator. His car fit like a glove. “Smooth.” You commented, “but don’t think I forgot the question.” You warned. He rolled his eyes, gave your thigh one last squeeze, and then hopped out. He walked around and opened your door before you could. “Come on,” he pulled your hand, “I’ll tell you if you insist.” He granted.   He pulled you along the beige hallway, humming to himself as he went. The building felt lived in and warm. Not like the trendy high rises downtown. He stopped at number 577 and pulled his keys out, “it’s a little messy,” he warned. “I’m sure it’s fine.” It was fine. His little living room and kitchen were very neat. Yeah there was a basket of clean clothes that he looked like he was folding next to the couch and maybe one dirty dish or two in the sink. You took your shoes off, following his example and padded in. Past the living room was a hallway that you guessed led to the bathroom. “Can I use your restroom?” You asked. He nodded and quickly pointed you in the right direction, “straight back.” He said.

He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, the familiar motions helped him slow his mind down to focus. Your scent and the flavor that came with it felt like it was filling his apartment. It made the other part of him, the supernatural part push to the forefront. This part of him was bored with the flirting game. This part of him was impatient. It craved the pleasure, and washing his hands helped him keep calm.   He had no idea his evening was going to go this way, and when he went over how you had ended up in his apartment he couldn’t quite figure out what made you agree to come with him. He hadn’t used any of his power, he just liked talking to you. The banter was fun and felt completely natural. He didn’t have to force himself to pay attention, he seemed to just naturally hang on every word, and laugh at all of your jokes, and- “Your apartment is really nice.” He turned to the sound of your voice and tasted lust like a candy melting on his tongue. You stood leaning against the cabinets behind him. You didn’t look particularly sinful but you certainty were giving off lust in waves. “So, you said you would tell me why you ditched me last time.?” You played with your fingers and he smelled your nervousness before he tasted it. A little tart. He pulled a hand through his hair and tried to think of a way to explain. “Don’t lie.” You warned. He swallowed, he could tell you a part of the truth. Get closer he allowed himself to take a few steps. “It’s embarrassing.” He tried to pout but failed when you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “It’s fine, I'm too curious now.” He had planned on stopping ahead of you, so that he could keep some space between the two of you. But his body had other plans he ended up leaning forward placing his hands on either side of the counter, caging you in. “You smelled really good.” He said. That was enough of the truth to make him feel like he wasn’t lying. He watched you consider his answer, it was harder and harder for him to concentrate. He titled his head and really inhaled every bit of you. “Good?” The little sing song way you echoed the word made his body shudder. You turned your face up and his lips were only inches away. He felt so starved for you. “So good,” He licked his lips and moved as deliberately as he could. He had enough control to stop himself if you wanted him to. You said nothing only met him the rest of the way and kissed him like he had never been kissed before. The rush was better than any race, any amount of speed he had pushed his car to. It was better then the first time he tasted lust. Your lips were everything. The perfect amount of softness and pressure. He felt your hands in his hair pulling him closer, you wanted him just as much and when you pulled away to bite at his lower lip he almost lost his mind. He worked your mouth living for the little hums you made. You moaned when he dragged his kisses down your neck. The sound made him shudder again, he could taste your energy. So close already. He kissed you right at your pressure point then bit down. The shock of it made you shiver. Your hands were around his neck now, pulling him in tightly. He put his hands to your butt and lifted you to sit on the counter. Better. More access, you threw your legs around his waist. Every soft sigh and little moan you let out made him want more in the worst way.

He held you on the counter, not sure how much time was passing until you pulled away, “bedroom.” He blinked at the word, the rational none pleasure focused part of his mind needed a moment to catch up. You touched his face, and stared into his eyes, “wow, your eyes look-” He closed them, willing the demon part of himself back. Of course you would notice. It was his fault, his mistake to kiss you in a well lit kitchen. He almost laughed at himself. You didn’t give him enough time to do that, you ghosted your lips over his again and whispered, “let’s go back to the bedroom.” He opened his eyes and slipped his arms around your waist. “Don’t judge me-” “Don’t even start, this place is spotless compared to mine.” The mixture of feelings he tasted and smelled from you almost scrambled his brain again. Taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom seemed like the biggest effort but he managed it. You followed, “you know you have a envelope like right in your bathroom sink, did you put it there so you wouldn’t forget to mail it?” He paused and looked down at you, “an envelope?” Luckily his place wasn’t too big. He only had to take a few more steps to see the big gold envelope. You had tried to place it back in its original spot but it had fallen to the floor. A chill crept its way up his spine. Your hand holding his felt like an anchor. “Hanse?” Distantly he heard you calling his name. You couldn’t see the writing on the front of the envelope. It was a sort of script that hid itself from humans very well. “Do, Hanse please open immediately.” He bent down and picked it up. Bad news, all bad news came in gold envelopes. “What is it?” You asked. You sounded worried and he knew he couldn’t keep ignoring you. “Well,” he swallowed and tried to find some of his usual humor, “how do you feel about an adventure?” “An adventure?” You cocked your head and he smelled curiosity. He nodded, “yeah an inconvenient one?” He fully expected you to let his hand go. You would yell at him for wasting your time then demand to be taken back to your car, and he would miss out on ever getting you in his apartment again. Miss out on the way you taste and all the energy he could feel just brimming under your skin. But on the other hand once you yelled, got back to your car, and decided to never speak to him again he knew you would be safe. He could live with that in a way, he had lived long enough to understand that being greedy never worked out in the end. He waited and you stared at him. Any second now…

You shrugged, “why not? I’m not doing anything I guess.” It was his turn to be absolutely baffled. You squeezed his hand, “as long as I get a prize at the end.” “A prize?” He thought that over. “Yeah, I’m not gonna be inconvenienced and get nothing for it.” You hugged his arm and for a moment he wasn’t so mad at the summons. An adventure meant more time…      

[tardisbadwolfrose]

For the character thing, please do Rose Tyler

Ooo thats fun. I was not expecting a doctor who character. Ok. Lets go.

Why I like them: part of it is just because she was my first companion. I fell in love with Doctor Who through her. But also, theres something to be said for a perfectly normal, ordinary person with flaws and who probably doesnt think much of themselves, who is young and naive and loving, who ends up doing extraordinary things without some preternatural destiny guiding them. The only other companion who really hit on that was Bill. Donna had a bit, but there were elements of s4 that implied that it was all some sort of prophecy coming together. The DoctorDonna and all that. Rose really was so ordinary. Even Bad Wolf was born of something so ordinary, so human, this intense love and desire to protect. Rose was, in so many ways, such a perfect first companion, because from the beginning shes such an every girl. And she has so much compassion for so many. Everytime she interacts with people, especially people who work for other people, she treats them like people and like equals. Theres the mechanic in "the end of the world," gwenyth, etc. I just... Ugh. I love her. Bills still my fave, but rose is a VERY close second.

Why I don't like them: her selfishness. I dont know if its really that I dont like her because of it, because I like that she has a real, human flaw, and its a real reason that people might dislike them. It means shes well written, and feels real and human. But it still bugs me. Especially in s1, but even in parts of s2. She treats Mickey and her mother with this dissmissiveness, which is very immature. Like she thinks they only exist when shes around. She gets called on it though, and pretty early on. She never fixes it fully, especially where Jackie is concerned, but she makes an effort. But you can especially see it in school reunion, with her jealousy of sarah jane. She has a problem with the people she loves fully having lives outside of her, especially when those lives seem like a threat to the one shes creating.

Favorite Episode: the Parting of ways, fear her, turn left, or stolen earth/journeys end. Aka, im a simple girl with simple pleasures, and those pleasures are rose being a badass/saving the day. Special mention for the idiot lantern bc i must have watched it 20 times and they give me LIFE the doctor and rose in that episode.

Favorite season: 2. Shes starting to get more confident and sure of herself, but shes still human and flawed.

Favorite Line: whatever the hell she says during the christmas invasion, when shes trying to get the sycorax to leave. Its utter bull, makes zero sense, and its beautiful.

OTP: Doctor/Rose. Any doctor. Im a little desperate to see rose/thirteen. Also Rose/doctor/river. If ianto didnt exist, id say rose/jack/doctor, but alas, he does.

Favorite outfit: oh god. Either the one in the unquiet dead, the idiot lantern, the long game, or the doctor dances. There are so many more though. Her costuming was brilliant.

BroTP: rose and jack.

Headcanon: you mean besides time lord/immortal Rose? Ok here it goes.

So when Rose dropped out of high school for Jimmy Stone, she ran away. Went off on tour with Stone and his band. While on tour, she got.very close to the other band members, including the lead singer/lyricist, a very cute 20 yr old Welshman going through his rebellious phase named Ianto Jones, who helped her figure out she needed to go home and, in the process realized he needed to stop rebelling and start acting like a mature adult, leading to him eventually signing on with Torchwood. Meanwhile, Rose is stranded all the way in Paris because she won't stay on that tour bus with Jimmy, and she's terrified to call her mum, who had told her she'd never forgive her if she ran off and wasted her life on Jimmy. Penniless and desperate, walking alone in the rain, Rose thinks she's never going to make it back to London when she almost gets run over by a car after forgetting to watch where she's going and wandering into the street. The driver swerves and just barely miss her, and after pulling over, a man hops out of the car and starts admonishing her, when Rose bursts into tears. Feeling badly, the man insists on taking her home. She tells him home is in London, too far away for her to accept, but the man refuses to listen, telling her he was heading to London anyway, and here, why don't you borrow my cell phone and call your mum, I'm sure she wants you home. He's right of course, and Jackie cries from relief at hearing from her and is thrilled she's coming home. The man's name was Rory, she learned on the drive, and he was married to a wonderful woman who he loved named Amy, and they lived in Leeds but he was travelling around from work and he was heading from Paris to London because of it. It took six hours to gt back to London, and once they got there, her mum treated Rory to breakfast and he went on his way and rose never saw him again.

Yes, it was that Rory. He was with Amy and the Doctor and he got stranded in Paris in the early 2000's and he wasn't heading into London at all but he felt very bad about almost hitting the poor girl with his car and he recognized her from an old picture he found while he was wandering the Tardis and he brought it to the doctor to ask him about it and the Doctor got very sad and very quiet and walked very quickly away from the conversation and Rory figured that meant that he used to travel with her and there was a sad story in there somewhere and he was curious about the girl and how she'd inspire that kind of emotion from a man he'd rarely seen care about anything real.

Should I make this a fanfiction? I kind of want to make this an actual fic... Anyway.

Unpopular opinion: ...She is a very much not straight woman. I don't know if that's unpopular, but it isn't popular. Or at least, it isn't talked about.

A wish: That she comes back in S13 and we see a reunion. I am but a simple girl with simple pleasures and I have been WAITING WITH BATED BREATH FOR A ROSE COMEBACK FOR YEARS AND I AM O V E R D U E.

An OMG-Please-Don't-Ever-Happen: For a character that is no longer in the show there isn't much I can say. I'd be very disappointed if they brought Rose back and ruined it but that requires them to bring her back first.

5 words that best describe them: Kind, good, jealous, badass, loving

My nickname for them: I don't really have one

Give me more characters! I love this!

[the-delta-42]

Miracles

Follow up of Revealed

Miracles

Gabriel looked at the miraculouses in his hand, he could bring Emilie back. Gabriel suddenly shook his head, no, he already knew what he was going to do, and he wasn’t about to back out on it. The past is the past, and Ms. Dupain-Cheng deserved to have a life to live.

“Plagg, Tikki,” Said Gabriel, making the Kwami look up at him, “Unify.”

Both Kwami were sucked into their miraculouses, Gabriel felt the pure power coursing through him, he felt like a god.

“Gabriel Agreste.” Said an ancient voice, “You have combined creation and destruction into one, what is your wish?”

“There is a girl, a child, that had her life cut too short.” Said Gabriel, making the voice chuckle.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Creations chosen.” Said the voice, “Her life would’ve been long and prosperous.”

“I wish for you to bring her back.” Said Gabriel, eliciting another chuckle from the voice.

“This desire is borne of regret, compassion and humility.” Said the voice, “Had you wished for your wife, you’re world would’ve been destroyed. There is a consequence to this, the girl may live, but you will fall.”

“I maintain my stance.” Affirmed Gabriel, tensing himself.

“Gabriel Agreste,” Said the voice, “Your wish…is granted.”

Gabriel felt an intense burning in his hand and ears, before he tore the miraculouses off himself. He stood in the middle of his office, for a moment he was worried he’d taken them off too soon. Gabriel froze, he could smell burning toast, Adrien was still in his room and Nathalie and Adrien’s bodyguard weren’t the snacking type, so where was it coming from. Half of his face felt numb, he lifted his foot and came crashing down, knocking his computer off his desk as he fell. Where was he? Gabriel knew where he was but couldn’t recognise it. He attempted to stand up, only to find his arms and legs weren’t working together. Thing suddenly became blurry, where was he? How did he get here? Who was that screaming?

R

Arnold sighed at the sight of the girl on the slab, some days he really hated his job, children had so much to live for and for one to be taken by cancer was a great tragedy.

“Subject is a young female, approximately 15 to 16 years of age, Caucasian-Asian descent.” Said Arnold, after pressing record on the tape, “Doctor Arnold Halesworth performing autopsy.”

“I am making a y-incision in the subject’s abdominal region-” Arnold sword loudly, making a nurse outside the room knock on the door.

“Doctor, is everything alright?” Asked the Nurse, poking her head through.

“This ‘cadaver’,” Said Arnold, pressing down on the incision he made, “is still alive.”

The nurse froze, before running off to find some of her colleagues and a gurney.

R

Sabine woke up to her eyes itching, something that’d become common following Marinette’s death. The Bakery had been closed in the week following her death, the hospital, no doubt trying to cover itself, had decided to perform an autopsy on Marinette. Sabine jumped when the phone suddenly started ringing.

“Hello?” Asked Sabine, answering the phone, Tom standing in the doorway behind her.

“Hello, Mrs. Cheng?” Sabine recognised the voice of Dr. Bates, the Doctor who’s team had taken over the care of the cancer patients after the incident with the nurses came to light.

“Dr. Bates,” Said Sabine, her voice scratching, “can I ask why you’re calling?”

“It’s a bit difficult to explain,” Said Dr Bates, sounding nervous and confused, “Our mortician was performing the autopsy of your daughter, and, well, found that she was still alive.”

Sabine froze, the phone falling from her grip. Tom picked up the phone, listening to Dr Bates and, within an hour, Sabine found herself staring at Marinette’s prone body in an ICU bed.

“By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense,” Said Dr Bates, looking over the file, “Her heart and breathing ceased, and we were able to declare her brain dead.”

“Is that everything?” Asked Tom, making Dr Bates look at him.

“Actually, theres more,” Said Dr Bates, handing them a scan, “That is your daughter’s scan from two weeks ago,” She handed them another, “This is the scan from two hours ago.”

“But, the one from today doesn’t have anything on it.” Said Tom, as Dr Bates frowned.

“Precisely,” Confirmed Dr Bates, “It’s as if the cancer decided up and leave.”

“But she’s going to be okay?” Asked Sabine, taking her eyes of Marinette for the first time.

“As soon as we’re able to confirm her recovery, we’ll see that she’s discharged and placed in remission.” Said Dr Bates, just as a new patient was admitted.

“White male, mid-to-late forties, burns to his right hand and ears, suffered a stroke before an ambulance was called.” Said the EMT, as the gurney was rushed past Tom and Sabine.

The couple nearly blanched at the sight of Gabriel Agreste, looking as if he’d been tortured, was rushed past them. Tom spotted Adrien being guided to a waiting area by an orderly and went over to him.

“Can, can I go in and see her?” Asked Sabine, looking back at Marinette.

Dr Bates was silent for a second, “I don’t see why not.”

Dr Bates opened the door for Sabine, who went directly to her daughter’s bedside and grabbed her hand. Dr Bates watched Sabine sit in the chair, her eyes not leaving her daughter.

R

She was confused, where was she? What was she doing? Why is she in a coffin? Emilie climbed out of the tube, rubbing her eyes as she walked towards what she thought was the exit. Emilie froze, she’d been sick, Duusuu was broken. But she was awake. Emilie grinned, before running to her and Gabriel’s room, intent on finding out how he’d fixed the miraculous. She ran into Nathalie, almost knocking the woman over.

“Emilie?” Asked the woman, her jaw hanging open.

“Nathalie!” Grinned Emilie, looking behind her, “Where’s Gabriel and Adrien?”

“They, they’re at the hospital,” Said Nathalie, staring at Emilie, “H-how are you…?”

Emilie froze, “I thought Gabriel fixed the Miraculous.”

Nathalie nodded her head, “It wasn’t enough to bring you back, Gabriel was going after the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses.”

Emilie’s smile dropped, “Did Gabriel sacrifice my son, Nathalie?”

Nathalie shook her head, “No, Adrien had the Cat Miraculous, the Ladybug holder’s Miraculous caused her death.”

“And how did she die?” Demanded Emilie, her mind already going to the worst.

“Leukaemia.” Said Nathalie, swallowing, “After her death, Gabriel was given both Miraculouses by Adrien, with the hope of bringing her back.”

“Nathalie,” Said Emilie, slowly, “who is receiving treatment at the hospital?”

“Gabriel.” Was the one-word answer.

“Get Simon and get the car ready.” Said Emilie, reaching for her coat, “Where’s my coat?”

“Amalie took them.” Said Nathalie, getting a scowl from Emilie.

“Typical.”

R

Sabine stroked Marinette’s knuckles with her thumb, the heart monitor steadily beeping. Sabine stiffened when Marinette’s grip tightened and then slacked.

“M-Marinette?” Asked Sabine, as she stood up.

Marinette’s face scrunched up, before she rolled over, pulled the tube out of mouth and threw up over the side of the bed. Marinette rolled and looked up at Sabine.

“Maman?” Asked Marinette, her voice weak.

Sabine let out a sob, before she pulled Marinette into her embrace. Tom stopped when he opened the door, Adrien standing behind him.

“Tom, Marinette’s awake!” Wept Sabine, the girl looking tired and confused.

“M-Maman, can you stop rocking me please, I’m gonna-” Marinette was cut off as she threw up, “Why does my stomach hurt?”

“They’d just started an autopsy when they realised you were alive.” Said Tom, as Marinette’s gaunt face looked up at him in horror.

“And if they didn’t do the autopsy?” Asked Marinette, as Dr Bates arrived.

“Then, there’s every chance you us accidentally burying you alive.” Said Tom, quietly.

“Oh.” Said Marinette, before she fainted.

“I’ll get the smelling salts.” Said an orderly, leaving the room.

Dr Bates looked at the puddle of vomit on the bed and the floor, “Well, at least we know the last thing she ate without cutting her open.”

R

Alya looked down at her phone screen. The class hadn’t hung out since Marinette died, now Adrien was calling her phone.

“Alright, Sunshine, this better be important.” Said Alya, before her eyes widened, and her phone fell from her hand.

R

Adrien looked at the doors as they swung open, expecting to see Alya and Nino, but instead saw his, presumed, dead mother stalking in, with Nathalie behind her.

“I’m looking for someone under the name Agreste.” Said His mother, not clocking Adrien.

The receptionist scowled, without looking up, and pointed towards Adrien, “Ask the kid with banana-shaped hair.”

His mother’s face went red, before Nathalie turned her head towards Adrien for her. Emilie froze when she saw her son. She slowly approached him, getting into arms reach of him. A second passed, before she grabbed him and practically smothered him.

“Maman?” Whispered Adrien, making Emilie look down at him.

“It’s me, sweetie.” Whispered Emilie, as Adrien seemingly broke in her arms.

R

Marinette looked up as Adrien entered the room, a blonde woman behind him. Marinette waved, not taking the straw in her mouth out of the drink. Adrien gave Marinette a small smile, before holding his hand out. Marinette reached out for it, only for Adrien to drop two small studs into her hand. Marinette froze, before putting her drink down and putting the studs in her ears. Tikki formed in front of her, the Kwami stared at her, before tears welled up in her eyes.

Tikki launched herself at Marinette’s face, gripping the girl’s cheek and she cried. Adrien had to admit, seeing Tikki hug Marinette’s face while the girl still had a straw in her mouth was kinda funny.

R

Marinette looked around her room, Dr Bates had given Marinette some antibiotics and some other medication to help her get her weight back up. Adrien had filled her in on what happened after her death. How Gabriel had united the Miraculouses and brought Marinette back, Tikki had explained that Emilie had been returned as a reward for Gabriel’s actions.

The resultant price, for Gabriel, however, was far more severe. After the Miraculouses had irreparably damaged his right hand and his hearing, then he had a stroke that took his legs and his ability to design from him. Gabriel had said that the Voice, Tikki called them Null, said that uniting the Miraculouses would cause Gabriel to fall.

Today was her first day back at school. Her first day at restarting her life.

[notesfromthefielddesk]

Episode 1 - Malinowski

Episode link; https://open.spotify.com/episode/6nIUBg5IthVY6F1caobf1N?si=04759ed73f474e39 

We hear the fizz of the surf and some seagulls

John

Imagine yourself set down surrounded by all your gear alone on a tropical beach, close to a native village, while the dinghy which brought you sails away out of sight.

Now imagine, you look down that beach and see a man. He’s sat behind a desk wearing a tweed suit. Is that a microphone? You head over to investigate and realise he is narrating your actions.

Hi! this is notes from the field desk.

Theme

John

Why don’t you grab a seat… I guess on the sand. I’d offer you a chair but honestly getting this one here was hard enough. It’s a good one though, one of those ones with lumbar support. I insisted on it.

I said “if i’m going to sit behind a desk on a tropical beach for months you better believe i’m having lumbar support.” The guys on the fishing boat were not impressed. You should have seen their faces when they saw the desk.

Oh.. I seem to be sinking in the sand a little, would you mind, yeah if you just grab the other side. (Skuffling) Okay should be good now.

Transport and sinking aside it’s a pretty good office though right? I know you can see it but do you mind if I just describe for the benefit of the tape?

I am sat on Maliu Island just off the coast  of Papua New Guinea. We’re at the North West Shoreline. It’s early morning the sun still rising. Looking out over the bay the lightly rippled sea shimmers in a thousand tints caught briefly on it’s continuously moving surface. In shallow spots amid turquoise vegetation, you see rich purple stones overgrown with weeds. Where the water is smooth unruffled by wind the sky and land are reflected in colours ranging from sapphire to the milky pink shadows of the mist enveloped coastline.

brief silence just washing of waves

John

I know what you’re thinking. Why the desk? I actually think this is a stroke of genius. I was talking to my supervisor, Susan, and she told me theres a debate in anthropology about the separation between field and desk.

You know anthropology? We’re like sociologists who like travel and hate maths.

Just so you know in academic circles that joke kills.

Anyway, apparently theres loads of articles about how anthropologists go to the field and they meet all people. Then they go back to their desks, in the universities and libraries and whatever. And then they write things that don’t relate to the people. Which makes going pointless in the first place. At least I think that’s what they were getting at, I sort of skimmed them, and they seemed to fit with this other idea of mine so… Sort of just ran with it.

My main idea, was that i’d recreate the research of the first anthropologist. Sort of a peer review, what did he get right, what did he get wrong. So i’m recreating “Argonauts of the Western Pacific” By Malinowski.

There were others before him, some old english blokes called Taylor and Frazer. Some people even say this Greek fella Herodetus was the first. But Malinowski was the first one to get the travel bit down. Before him most of these guys relied on reports they got from colonial officers or missionaries or even worse amateurs, usually wealthy people, running around writing nonsense.

Nowadays we’d call Taylor or Fraser armchair anthropologists. Taking the observations done by others and theorising about it. AKA philosophers, am I right?

Not a joke fan, noted.

Malinowski thought that the studies done before him were theoretically strong but the data unscientifically gathered. To successfully study the “other” you had to go and live with them see the world through their eyes. If you lived with them and participated in their community you could make objective observations about how their society worked. He said this becoming native was key and to achieve it you have to stay in the field for at least a year.

So the problem of early anthropology was people not leaving their desks to collect data, and the problem of modern anthropology is people leaving for the desk and forgetting the field. I thought two birds, one stone. I’ll bring the desk to the field.

(Disappointed) Oh. You were wondering about the tweed on a tropical island. Well in scientific study you control the variables right? If I want to see the Trobriand Islands like Malinowski did I need to recreate his experience. He was a posho, and in the photos he wore this weird colonial outfit which I couldn’t find but I figured this would work just as well.

Same deal with my travel route. I flew to Brisbane, not clear how he got there but we will say Brisbane was the starting point. I sailed up the coast from there to Cairns. From there I chartered a boat to Papua New Guinea. I’m not really a big boat guy and it was a lot longer than I expected so I was sick most of the way. But good news, so was Malinowski so we’ll count that as scientific accuracy.

We arrived pretty late at Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea. Malinowski doesn’t describe it but to be honest, I was a bit disappointed. It’s a massive city. I was sort of hoping to be far flung you know, cut off from civilisation the way Malinowski says you should be. I knew this was a risk though, in the intro to Argonauts Malinowski mentions that even back then in 1915 Native communities were melting away.

I tried to put my disappointment aside. After all, this wasn’t my final destination. And hey look at this, pretty cut off right? I took a car the following morning down the coast to Deba, I know that’s not how he would have done it but I couldn’t find a boat willing to take my desk. At Deba, I managed to bribe my way onto a fishing boat. Now here I am.

I know it’s not really the Trobriand Islands. But Malinowski hung around here and Moresby for a while and with the desk this is as far as I can get. I have now, in the words of Malinowski “spread my nets in the correct place” now it’s time to wait and see what falls into them.

Waves washing on the shore. Drag this out 10-15 seconds, see how it feels in the edit.

John

Seems like no-one coming. So Let’s go over some theory in the mean time. Don’t whine we’ll keep it light. You can paddle while I talk it’s mostly for my notes anyway.

Sound of someone paddling in sea

Malinowski was a functionalist, which means he thought all our social behaviour is an extension of our physical needs. He argued that thinking about it this way you could understand any behaviour, however strange, by understanding what need it filled.

Example, magic, weird right? Malinowski said no. It’s a response to emotional distress. When something bad happens that you can’t explain it’s comforting to fill that void of understanding, with Magic. Malinowski says that’s why magic persists in modern society. Like when you have a shit month and say it’s because mercury is in retrograde, it’s comforting even if you don’t fully believe it.

But this doesn’t just happen after the fact, participating in magic can make us feel like we’re in control of the future, which is strange and scary. That’s like saying “Next month Mercury is in retrograde get the incense ready.”

Remember that guy Frazer I talked about earlier? This is basically his theory of magic and religion. He said people realise they aren’t powerful enough to control nature so they ask higher powers to help. Malinowski loved Frazer, total fan boy, used to carry his book around, so it’s not surprising he borrows a lot of his ideas.

That other guy, Taylor, he would say we’ve advanced as a society beyond the need for magic. Through industrialisation we can control nature. Any magical belief left over in society was a “survival.” It used to serve a useful function in society but now it doesn’t, it’s just a silly ornament that we should throw out. Imagine a twitter atheist bro, “uhh horoscopes are stupid, haven’t you heard of this thing called science.”

Malinowski, not so much a fan of Taylor. He said no Taylor you dummy, society is functional. How can there be a social behaviour that doesn’t have a function. Doesn’t make sense. He said the function probably just changed to serve a different purpose.

Despite that little spat, they all basically agreed in an evolutionary perspective. That less advanced societies are what our society looked like in the past. By studying other people maybe it can help us understand the weird things we do now.

So i’m here to take an objective look at Malinowski’s objective look. A hundred years ago he was on the Trobriand Islands, so now they should look like the UK did in 1920. I suppose that big city at Port Moresby was a good sign they were right.

Oh shit, I’m actually late to teach my tutorial. Just gunna Skype in. In the mean time i’ll leave you with a recording of a passage from “Argonauts of the Western Pacific.”

Waves washing on shore maybe ten seconds

“The goal is, briefly, to grasp the native’s point of view, his relation to life, to realise his vision of his world. We have to study man, and we must study what concerns him most intimately, that is, the hold which life has on him. In each culture, the values are slightly different; people aspire after different aims, follow different impulses, yearn after a different form of happiness. In each culture, we find different institutions in which man pursues his life-interest, different customs by which he satisfies his aspirations, different codes of law and morality which reward his virtues or punish his defections. To study the institutions, customs, and codes without understanding the desires and feelings of these people is, in my opinion, to miss the greatest reward which we can hope to obtain from the study of man.

These generalities the reader will find illustrated in the following chapters. We shall see there the savage striving to satisfy certain aspirations, to attain his type of value, to follow his line of social ambition. We shall see him led on to perilous and difficult enterprises by a tradition of magical and heroical exploits, shall see him following the lure of his own romance. Perhaps as we read the account of these remote customs there may emerge a feeling of solidarity with the endeavours and ambitions of these natives. Perhaps man’s mentality will be revealed to us, and brought near, along some lines which we never have followed before. Perhaps through realising human nature in a shape very distant and foreign to us, we shall have some light shed on our own. In this, and in this case only, we shall be justified in feeling that it has been worth our while to understand these natives, their institutions and customs.”

Waves washing on shore for maybe ten seconds

John

Well…that was… an interesting tutorial. In the end we talked a lot about Malinowski’s diaries rather than argonauts. They were published in 1967, a while after he died. In part probably to protect his reputation, as it turns out. To be honest, I hadn’t read them in depth. But my students said they show he was kind of a racist. More like he was a racist, throughout. He curses the Trobriand Islanders, calls them lazy and stupid. Also it seems like all through his research he was bribing the islanders with tobacco to include him, and dance, or do magic. It all comes across… unscientific.

But I said to them, this is just his diary, his private thoughts. I’m sure, when he went to the field he was able to set his personal prejudice to the side and carry out good research.

They didn’t agree. First they said, objectivity wasn’t possible because people know their being watched and that changes things. They gave the example

From of a photo from Argonauts of the Western Pacific with the caption “A Ceremonial Act of the Kula." A shell necklace is being offered to a Trobriand chief. Behind the guy presenting the necklace is a row of six bowing boys, one of them sounding a conch. All the figures stand in profile, their attention apparently concentrated on the rite of exchange. But if you look again, you see one of the bowing Trobrianders is looking at the camera.

To be honest when you look at the other pictures, Malinowski does look awkwardly out of place. Hardly, a member of the community. And Malinowski definitely skewed the results with the bribes.  

Sorry, the tide is coming in and the waves are now washing onto my brogues. Would you mind helping me shift the desk a bit further up the beach.

General awkward moving the desk sounds.

Sorry where was I? Right, secondly, they said Malinowski was wrong. Those colonial officers and missionaries, it wasn’t that they couldn’t be objective because they weren’t scientists. But because nobody is objective, we’ve all got baggage, things that have happened to us that make us think a certain way.

He couldn’t just leave his racism in the diary because it effected the way he thought about everything. They said when you claim something is objectively true you’re really making a claim about authority.

Remember, before, how we were talking about the evolutionary stuff. They said that is based on the assumption that European civilisation was the peak of human society and everything else is on the same track to becoming that.

They said that’s what colonialism was, British people going around the world claiming they were the height of civilisation so they should be in charge. By being in charge they’d make them better. They called that “The White Mans Burden.” Not the students, the colonial officers. What Malinowkski’s diary proved was that he was just as prejudiced, just as guilty of this way of thinking. He saw them as savages and backwards, less evolved. and that wasn’t just a private opinion, that formed the basis of his theories.

I said, wasn’t that just cancel culture?

They groaned at that. One of them said really cancelling someone was just challenging the authority of their statements and actions. When Malinowski was “cancelled” it challenged the authority of colonial racism. Even if he only thought in private that the Trobriand Islanders were lesser it still effected how he treated them and described them. The same way it effected British colonial officers descriptions and treatment those they ruled.

That’s why anthropology is suspicious of objectivity, because objectivity is a claim to authority and authority leads to misrepresentation and mistreatment. In other words, arriving as an anthropologist and claiming to be able to see someone else society objectively is like saying “I’m big your small, I’m smart, you’re dumb and there is nothing you can do about it.”

They stumped me a bit at the end there, couldn’t really follow, but I did feel hurt. I said “if that’s all true and I’m replicating his work then how am I different from Malinowski. Am I a racist?” It got a bit awkward after that.

Still, I think there is some merit in what I’m doing. I’m not a racist. So I can asses Malinowski’s work, see the flaws. Societies still advance so, i’ll just see how things have changed, have they become like us? I told them I would carry on and prove I could be objective.

Anyway a lot to think about. [Phone ring]

John

Apparently, the students have complained. And Susan has reminded me that my contract requires I teach the tutorials in person. That this fieldwork was not cleared and that I have not done an ethics form. Further, she reminded me that the department does not subscribe to a teleological perspective. I asked what that meant and she said to do some fucking reading for once.

Still, Malinowski teaches us a lot. Fieldwork is still really important in anthropology, you’ve got to go and talk to people and understand their perspectives. That’s his lasting legacy more than the theoretical work. Plus, I suppose his diary teaches us that we should keep an eye on our assumptions. And remember that no matter what we do, like bring a desk to the field, we always sneak into our work. So maybe we should just be upfront about that.

So - would you mind helping to carry this desk to that village? I need to get back or i’ll get fired.

more desk moving noises

I just realised I never asked what you were doing here.

Really!? that’s disgrace-

Theme

This was notes from the field desk written by me John McGrail.  

This episode references

Clifford, John (1983) On Ethnographic Authority in Representations, No. 2 (Spring, 1983)

Dahl, Roald (1988) Matilda published by Jonathan Cape

Malinowski, Bronislaw (1922) Argonauts of the Western Pacific Routledge

Malinowski, Bronislaw (1948) Magic, Science and Religion Waveland Press

Malinowski, Bronislaw (1967) with introduction by Firth, Raymond (1989) A Diary in the Strict Sense of the Term Stanford University Press

Tylor, Edward Burnett (1871) Primitive Culture published by the Cambridge University Press

Young, Michael W. (2004) Malinowski: Odyssey of an Anthropologist 1884-1920 Yale University Press

The sounds were all taken from Freesound. If you can donate to them you totally should, I would not have been able to make this podcast without it.

The sounds were;

Water Lap by snog https://freesound.org/people/snog/sounds/67031/

Sand slidding out of shovel slowly by XfiXy8 https://freesound.org/people/XfiXy8/sounds/467301/

Tropical Ocean Waves » Mau U Mae Beach Waves by tombenedict https://freesound.org/people/tombenedict/sounds/397594/?page=2#comment

Tropical Island by rich wise https://freesound.org/people/richwise/sounds/451743/

The theme music was dark side of my students, posted by Mia Stodzwiekow created by Tadeusz Maszewski https://freesound.org/people/miastodzwiekow/sounds/341770/

[themeed]

damn allowed myself to want things for a day and all i want is a van to live in, knowledge, freedom, weight loss, and a bass guitar.

im. happy with that i think. im proud of me, no jokes. im proud of being able to want things and care about them and vibrate towards them with longing. im... pleased with that. its fulfilling in a way Not Wanting For Anything isnt, because thats... kinda hollow. empty. in a vacant, lonely, yearning and grieving and SAD way. maybe because i Couldnt Want then. i Couldnt Desire or it would be used against me or taken away. that sucks. that sucked.

and now. im free to want again. and comparatively???? i think im very much never going to aim for buddhism or that weird Not Desiring Not Attached Nirvana mindset. like good for u but been there out of trauma and its not fun theres no reason to truly Live. u just float endlessly and experience and it aches so badly!!!! it hurts to want to want and not be able to. and i guess that is different from not wanting at all but... its not different enough for me to justify ever going back to that. or going forward to that. i just got this back and screw enlightenment if it means i have to give up on my passions i dont think life is worth living without it.

and anybody who looks down on that from a spiritual tower has yet to examine their own pride and how empty they feel without it.

anybody who looks down and smiles and wishes me luck on my journey? good for them. im glad theyre living their best life, on their journey as they see fit.

and i feel the need to protect myself because ive been hurt by the pride- the arrogance of others before. a lot of my hurts and traumas stem from my mother being too prideful to recognize that she can be wrong and someone under her power could be correct over her. and it was an uncomfortable truth. so she denied it was one at all and hurt me. i know the reason could be elaborated on. she didnt want to confront her own internal logic. or trauma. or even doublethink. that doesnt excuse her hurting a child for the sake of her sense of pride, of comfort, of self-worth. a child under her power, that she claimed to be parent of. teacher of.

not owing anyone anything is not the same as not hurting anyone. i havent reconciled that yet. oppressors should be held accountable for their mistakes, and give reparations if the harm is physical at LEAST. and i think that applies to politics, yes. privately though? if i beat up a nazi, i dont want to pay for his hospital bills. my personal philosophy struggles between equating people and ideas as a worth measurement, and realizing that that line of thinking is... similar to oppressors. but. its based on something people can change. the question is, do i think "if given the opportunity" is a good enough reason to stop and question a racist that runs their mouth? and do i think pre-emptive violence is okay? if say, a nazi walks into a bar and doesnt say anything but is wearing all the red flags and bells and whistles. i dont think that justifies a beatdown. being asked to leave, sure, but the beatdown doesnt start til the first remark flies.

once the intent is given OR the action is taken, the line is drawn. doesnt matter if they Havent Had The Chance. if theyre starting shit outside of debate spaces like that, and not, say, asking questions, theyre not looking for new perspectives, and it is NOT my job to educate people. its not my job to Show People The Light. a quick fucking google search could tell them why theyre wrong. if they havent put even the most basic energy into questioning their beliefs, thats on them.

it sounds like im trying to absolve myself of blame here. largely because. i think i should go out and help educate people because theyre inherently complacent if theyre, yknow, in a position of power. aka white folk and men and rich folk and cis folk and on and on and on. these people dont live my reality. they dont live the reality of a gay black man in the south, or a genderqueer lesbian in the west, or an indigenous woman whose nation is being targeted, or a muslim woman who cannot wear her headcoverings in the face of danger of death, or an asian immigrant who cant get a job because of COVD age discrimination resurging. we will never live each others realities, but we can become aware of them.

they wont come into awareness without someone asking or telling, and then doing something to change them.

we shouldnt need to go running to people in power for them to be aware of problems in the populace, govt is supposed to help and solve issues like this. like. actively. thats the whole point, make life better for the countrys citizens. and individuals in a position of social power...

are individuals who didnt take on a responsibility to protect and serve or otherwise care for the populace of a nation. i personally think they SHOULD care, but they are not obligated to. i cant make them care about others.

and honestly, on some of them, it would be a waste of time. there are people who want to change or question things and yknow what? they seek out answers. in people or places or online usually. stats and stories.

so like. i dont think someones Potential as a person matters when theres a throwdown about to happen. it really isnt my responsibility to save people from themselves or try to change their sides against their will. if they want to chat about it they can ask questions first.

not throw insults or punches or hatred.

what people have been taught is worth analyzing and trying to correct IN SOCIETY but i cant fix every broken white boy that comes to me. PSAs, fliers, outreach, online videos, debate spaces. those are things i already have access to and can be a part of if i really want to go around changing minds. or yknow. get involved in legislation and be myself around others to change their perceptions of whats socially acceptable or normal. maybe protest, maybe call congressfolk, etc.

but not every comment has to be analyzed or a learning opportunity. im allowed to shut it down, and people can respect that or stop talking to me. this isnt my parents house where i had to justify everything that i said or did when scrutinized, and doubly justify any criticism i had of mother, or any joke i frowned at instead of smiling.

these people dont have that power over me. they arent my mother. they arent my boss, and if they are i can fuck off and get a new job if necessary. they dont have financial control over my living space and food and schooling and physical control of where i can go and with who and for how long. I CONTROL THAT. I do.

Huh. maybe thats why i want a van so bad. i mean... when this lease ends if nobody is gonna end up living with me...

i could just... live in my car and shower at truck stops. get a storage unit for my stuff. save by driving jobs. like 40 to 60 a day. tear out my cars back, insulate it, and install my mattress pad there. water on the floor, cooler next to it, wooden cutting coard, knife, single camping plateware set, and another little shelf for spices. maybe a hot plate i can hook up to the car battery? get a long enough usb and it might be doable. i could go camping and open the trunk to just... vibe.

because yeah, honestly? i dont plan on having a solid apartment for a bit. like a long bit. and i still have like 70000 miles on my car before itll want to go. and by that point, even at like 100 miles a day, thats like 2 years, less if i go cross country in that vehicle. i could save up SO MUCH for a better vehicle, or like. college. live on campus, get some credit, continue working after i figure out want i want to do.

i think thats a solid plan, even if i dont get another apartment and put everything in storage. work as i need to instead of all the time for rent, really only paying for gas, car repairs, car ins, food, and phone data/hotspot internet... that would bring my monthly expenses down to like 500 a month max instead of like 1400. id only need to make some 1000 a month doing contract stuff to save for taxes and stuff. anything extra would be just that: extra for savings and things. holy shit.

depending on how this next month goes for my friends, holy s h i t.

i. i might do this. legitimately.

i. dont think i can yet. i need proof of address to get my license im pretty sure? but hey, thatll be my 21st this year, so. once i have that i wont need a new address for a While. i dont know if ill want one, really.

i could always just ask a friend or family member if i could use theirs for mail that cant go to a PO box.

anyway. yeah. wow.

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issue 17

and we’re back!

phew I had to take a hiatus to work on other projects but now that those are done I'm baaaack

god I'm SO fucking excited for this arc, I fucking love it 

OH NO TAILGATE...I almost forgot...this poor little dude

REMAIN IN LIGHT BABEYYYYY!!! I fucking love that title, talking heads is probably my favorite band Ever, and that album is one of my favorites, so when I first saw it here I was super excited lol. it’s such a good title, both for the album and for this arc

tailgate goes right to cyclonus ;_; hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

also...I just love the way milne draws cyclonus, he’s the perfect mix of terrifying and handsome, and also goth

ohhhhh I forgot about the framing device used here, with rodimus in jail later on in this arc, narrating retrospectively 

cybercrosis, add that to this list of amusing robo-puns, as a play on (I'm assuming) necrosis, aka tissue death

oof, ratchet saying that tailgate ‘lived a full life,’ which is fucking brutal because we as the readers know that isn't true :( 

tg is right tho, it seems v uncommon for tfs to die of old age. that's some shit luck right there, espec bc tg is basically a baby who was asleep for 6 million years 

ratchet talking abt pharma and looking at his hands...I See That

ratchets bedside manner leaves a bit to be desired hvbhjdsubfjsd jesus dude

and then there's cyclonus, whos also pretty terrible at being tactful

AUGHHHH and then cyclonus, like the emotionally repressed icon he is, goes and claws his own face up in grief rather than express any emotion to tailgate :( I'm in physical pain thanks

rodimus is like, wait...informing my crew about my actions? lmao? uhh what quest...oh yeah we’re on a quest. yeaaaah whatever man

the portal helllllll yessssssss

poor tg drinking away his impending death

oh man, chromedomes weird fucked up skeleton arm

rodimus hhvbhjaudsfbjaskdf he’s like yeahhhh I'm not even gonna pretend to indulge in democracy, we are GOING thru that giant ass space portal whether you fools like it or not

AND THERES THE MFING MOON BABEYYYY!

luna 1!!!!!! they found the missing moon BY ACCIDENT, fucking iconic 

still cant believe rodimus’s office is HOT PINK with a FLAME DECAL around the door. unreal

awww I love percy 

rodimus, in a shocking show of maturity, admits that rung was correct to be harsh with him about the whole overlord thing 

the squad gettin together ayyyy

rodimus reminding us all that this ISNT just a party ship full of frat boys, people have DIED

when you see tg and realize that that was cyclonus’s request ;_; 

aughhh and cyc saying ‘never hope. hope is a lie.’ that kills me man aughhhh

like, cyclonus clearly doesn't want to deal with the emotions he’s feeling over tg dying so he’s trying to make sure that tg accepts death and doesn't hope for a cure, bc that would hurt cyclonus MORE, and he’s already unused to all these ‘emotions’ n shit

I'm sorry but the MARBs just look so fuckin dorky bvhjakbdfhsf beep beep here comes the dweeb squad!!! lmaoooo

cd being like ‘can’t we just drive’ and perceptor is right there like :| LMAOOOO 

also I love cd saying ‘sometimes I wonder why we even have alt modes’ bc I feel like that's such a witty dig at the fact that in this series about robots that transform into cars, we rarely get to seem them actually DO that

its especially interesting when you consider how important functionism is in this story - alt modes are super important in that context, but we still rarely get to see them. hell, we literally NEVER saw megatrons alt mode, which is still crazy to me

ohhhh man I love that panel where the whole moon lights up, that's just amazing

congratulations, rodimus! it’s....a shitton of babies!

also broooo I ufcking love the fact that you barely even notice that rung ALSO hopped down onto the moon at the same time as rodimus...brilliant

god now I need to go find that ‘am i pragnent?’ video lmaooo

why....why did you have to use the word ‘fertilized,’ jro. why....

cold construction lore time!

do I wanna do my big biology speech here? I'm trying to figure out where it would go best...I think ill save it for later in this arc

god I fucking love brainstorm. his entire little speech about how he ‘went to marches’ for cold construction rights and whatnot is so funny with the added context that he’s an MTO and wasn't even around for that

skids, don't just sit in the spooky oil reservoir, alone, after you just went thru a mysterious portal, you should be more genre savvy than that 

what am I saying, this is the guy who wants his memories back even though he’s been told multiple times that it’ll probably traumatize him to death

brainstorm with the 0.1%er spark [eyes emoji]

I love percy just being horrified at the lack of proper scientific conduct from brainstorm like, all the time

I see the cons have their own edgy, weaponed-up version of the MARBs

MINIMUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love him aughhh I'm so excited for the stuff w/him this arc

also I totally forgot that you’re supposed to see him introduce himself as ‘ambus’ and be like whoa wait is that dominus????? or someone adjacent to him????

skids vs legislators: part 2!

P H A R M A

DR THOT HIMSELF.....back and immediately making a hand pun, with his chainsaw arm displayed in full glory....amazing

cant believe jro named this one ‘the fecund moon,’ which forced me to google what ‘fecund’ means, which led me to go ‘oh good lord jro WHY’ lmao 

I do love that we don't see the ‘part 1 of 5′ til the end - that's a great small reveal that hey, we’re in an arc now!

so there's the end of issue one of remain in light! aughh, I'm so fucking excited for this arc. my first two readthrus this was one of my favorite arcs (my other fav being the time travel arc), and I'm excited to see if its still at the top for me 

I feel like the first time I read thru I like this arc a lot cause I actually understood most of it hbvhadjkfbaksjf unlike all the previous stuff, where I was a bit more confused - at this point I at least had a decent grasp on the characters and relationships, so that helped a lot

also apparently one of the songs of this issue is ‘heaven’ by talking heads which AUghhH that song makes me wanna float in the ocean and look at the stars. idk. also I find it a little ironic that that song isn't off the album remain in light lol

either way I love this issue, strong start to the arc with lots of intrigue and worldbuilding, and clearly some incoming status quo changes...cant wait!!

[adam-is-suffering]

Homestuck Day 11 ------ part 2

Dialogues are so long you can tell theres a big difference in length between this post and the one before it jesus christ

Anyways

Its Dave. Missed you, my guy.

Even if its been like idk, 15 pages, I still missed my homie.

Indulge him, John. This happens every single time. You always ignore his attempts at getting your attention 😔

John you literally joked about ending the world and there being a meteor named after you before you knew it was literally going to happen, so I don’t exactly expect Dave to believe you

John: Dude you don’t even believe me about my current situation and you don’t even care that Im in trouble smh fake friend

Also John: Im not actually going to talk to you about it, and I will evade every conversations with you whenever the topic finally gets discussed because Im busy, so technically you have no idea whats going on currently and I havent explained it so I just expect you to believe my one sentence of “Im getting blown up” even after joking about it ok bye

John is getting blown up and Dave is like, huh perfect time to rap about this

Which is the obvious response. What friend would you be if you didn’t do this?

Oh god oh fuck, he’s going off, he really did it, he’s really rapping about the end of the world and there’s no stopping this kid shit ah shit its the end for us oh god oh fuck

Is this what its like to be friends with a soundcloud rapper?

Dave what?

Dave, thats gay

Thats not how typos work dave, because since youre writing it still, you can.. Fix it...

Wait, is... he comparing them to Jesus?

Im not even sure this is english

Huh

Ok

Can I just say something?

Dave knows the cast of Armageddon and their roles a little too well in this rap. Because I kinda don’t remember the plot of Armageddon even having watched it, and I honestly completely forgot that Steve Buscemi was in the fucking thing in the first place, so honestly. I’m not saying Dave watched it but I want to believe he did. Either John made him, John talked about it so much to the point where Dave had to know what the hell he was talking about with the references (which also brings in the point that perhaps John talked about it so much that Dave knows the whole plot already from just that - more likely) OR he watched it ironically bc it was “bad”. But no matter the reason, I’m pretty sure after knowing John and his interests, Dave probably watched it at SOME point in time and then continued to talk about it bc he knows John likes it despite saying its for “irony”.

Aight lit, thats my hot take. Thats my headcanon. And with that, I’m out.

I stand with what I previously said.

I hope this is still part of the rap, or he’s just doing a rapping monologue. 

You know, Dave’s kind of great ngl

Dave’s not even subtle in his desire to talk with John

Also IM RIGHT, you see. Dave doesn’t even know wtf is going on because John Doesnt Fucking Talk To Him Unless Its About His Movies

No wonder hes whipped, and rapping about said movies

Soulless fucking John Im telling you

They’re really doing Dave dirty in the first acts of Homestuck, huh

Kid can’t even defend himself

Rose highjacked a car before, I’m like 100% certain of this

IM LAUGHING MY FUCKING ASS OFF

Rip the car

Another retcon. Ill figure it out one day, Hussie. I fucking will. Watch me.

Im real sus

Im starting to feel so fucking bad for Dave, this kid is just getting shitted on left and right lmfao

AHA

I was getting bored of the red, purple and blue

Johns not gonna explain one bit of it, is he?

What did I FUCKING say

Wait. Does the dog fucking TALK???????????

She’s taking this rather smoothly for someone who just said they lost their car in a bottomless pit

“I can’t talk right now, Dave, I’m busy. I can’t explain jackshit to you bc itll take too long and I already gave u the basis. Oh? Whats this? Jade? Lol here lemme give you my whole life story”

Why does everyone fucking hate Dave?

I DONT GET IT???

I get he raps, but like.. we all have that one friend doesnt mean u gotta ignore :/

Im surprised John hasnt snapped yet from all this stress, I wonder how much he’s bottling in.

Oh. Okay. Okaokaok. So Jade is one of those Im so cute personality types but actually likes heavy metal and listening to murder podcasts on the down low, isnt she?

Honestly ngl, the cute but will murder you type characters are usually the most interesting to me. 

I mean. thats just me being a slut for character tropes 😔

Jesus, John, just ask him, I’m pretty sure he’d do anything if you just said smth about it

I can’t wait for someone to respect Dave Strider and his pining smh, but honestly itll only happen with one person and that person will most likely be Jade Harley bc she doesnt see the worst in anybody and thats why Im liking her rn

Rose will call bullshit and John just doesnt give a fuck

N e ways. When are we getting dialogues that arent exclusively with John?

[isthisthingeven0n]

cartier bracelet : j.w

brief summary: being something with jeff, based loosely on the lyrics of cartier by bazzi 

there are hints of smut, but literally nothing. merely implied tbh. also I took inspo from an old piece, you might recognise it you might not but it doesn’t matter either way. hope you enjoy :)

* masterlist * 

The first time it happened was meant to be a fluke, a drunken accident. One I enjoyed a little bit too much as I woke up beside him, the sunlight lining his jaw as he mumbled nonsense in his sleep. That was going to be the first and only time it should’ve happened, but not everything works out that way.

A month later, the second time it happened. We were all having a pool party at Todd's, I skidded and cut my elbow. He was the first to offer as he walked me inside to the bathroom. I sat quietly, having not been in only his company since that night. 

He was sweet and caring as he cleaned my arm from the crimson that covered it. I closed my eyes, drowning out the pain. But then I felt his soft lips against mine and I couldn’t resist wanting more. 

It was a feeling I wasn’t sure how to put into words at the time, but now I’ve learnt. Desire. 

There was a sense of longing to be with him whenever we had the chance. I would sit, scrolling through our friend's social media whilst we lay in bed, sweat glistening off of his forehead as he smiled over at me awaiting round two. 

Neither of us was sure where it was going, but we weren’t eager to call it quits, especially when the fun was only just beginning. 

*

Walking into the living room I sat down next to Zane, resting my head on his shoulder as he brought me into a hug. “How you doin’ baby.” He asks as I yawn loudly. “We keeping you up?” A laugh escapes my lips as I shake my head, lifting my hand up to wipe my eyes. 

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” I mutter before glancing over to Jeff who smiles to himself as he sits with his laptop on his lap, editing a video. 

David walks in with his camera before pausing at the sight of me. “Holy shit.” He mutters as he walks closer, his eyes widening with joy. “You got a Cartier bracelet? How?” Based on his tone he’s completely shocked by the concept. 

Glancing down I let out a dry laugh, completely forgetting it was on. “I have my ways.” I shrug it off, but knowing David there was no way I would get out of the conversation that easily.

“You have your ways to a spare five thousand dollars?” Zane sits upright now, letting me fall face first into the couch. 

Keeping my head hidden I give David a thumbs up, receiving a light laugh from the other side of the room. 

“Oh hold up.” Zane mutters as he takes a hold of my wrist, moving the bracelet. “This is a love bracelet. Whose got you all loved up, Y/n?” 

Under my breath, I silently swear before lifting myself back up to sit upright. I briefly glance over to Jeff who wears a nervous smile. “Ever heard of self-love?” I laugh lightly, throwing them off as David shrugs his shoulders, lowering his camera before sitting by Jeff. 

Returning to my conversation with Zane I glance over to Jeff, seeing him sneak glances to me as I place my hand over the bracelet, shame crossing over me as the bracelet touches my skin. 

*

Standing up I reach over, wrapping my silk robe around my body as I walk without saying another word straight to the bathroom. “Hey, are you alright?” He calls out from the bedroom, but keep quiet as I turn the shower on, feeling the steam already rising as it begs for me to embrace the warmth I’m craving. 

The sound of him calling my name once again makes me sigh. “I’m just having a shower.” I respond as I slip the robe off before climbing in. 

Closing my eyes I hum to myself under the warmth, running my fingers through my hair until the sound of footsteps snaps me out of it. 

“God, you look fucking beautiful.” He mutters as he stares at me with a big smile on his face. “I could stare at you all day, you looking like that with that bracelet.” Glancing down I cover the bracelet with my right hand before reaching down for the soap. “Why’d you do that?” 

I let out a small sigh. “Are you ashamed of us?” I ask quietly before opening my eyes, staring into his deep brown ones as he raises his eyebrows in confusion. 

A scoff escapes his lips as he steps into the shower, closing the space between us. “Why would I be ashamed of you baby? I thank the Lord every day that he made someone as perfect as you.” He rests his hand on my cheek, caressing it before moving closer, kissing me softly. “If this is about the other day,” He trails off, knowing exactly what I mean.

“I know we don’t exactly have a definition for this,” I motion between the two of us as he smiles. “but my neighbours think you’re my boyfriend, my family are wondering about the guy I’m spending so much time with.” 

“Your parents want to meet me?” He beams as I shake my head in disbelief. “No, no don’t do that.” He places his hand under my jaw, making me meet his eyes as water pours down my back and flattens his hair against his forehead. “I just haven’t felt like this in a long time.” 

“Neither have I, Jeff.” I mutter in response as I sigh. “But is this just us craving one another or wanting more?” 

Jeff shrugs his shoulders before smiling to himself. “I guess there’s only one way to find out for sure.” He mumbles before stepping out of the shower and standing still before his smile grows. “How do you make that Cartier bracelet look worthless on your priceless figure?” 

“You smooth talker.” I joke before closing my eyes as I rub soap over my body, hearing him on the phone in the bedroom. 

*

“So, what’re we filming exactly?” I ask David as I sit in the passenger seat, fiddling with the ends of my hair. 

He grits his teeth as his eyebrows rise and I lean back towards the door, waiting for him to admit the reason I’m here in his car. “I had Natalie order me something online.” He reaches down between my legs and I tense up before he lifts something up and I immediately start laughing. 

“Can I taste your pussy?” I ask David who laughs harder before showing the camera the drink. 

“I want you to ask all the guys to taste your pussy.” He passes me the drink and I shake my head in disbelief. 

“You’re unbelievable sometimes Dobrik.” I mutter under my breath before I swap seats with him, having a practice round on him before we begin the prank. “So, David.” I bite my lip as I focus on his eyes. “I want you to taste my pussy.” I lick my lips before glancing downwards. 

“Oh my god, perfect.” He claps as I smile brightly. “They won’t know what’s hit them.” 

*

I force myself to stop smiling as Josh walks back into the house and I compose myself for the next victim. 

“How is this so easy?” I mutter under my breath as I give the camera a thumbs up, not even hearing the car door open and see as Jeff slips in beside me. 

“What’s up? David said you had something to show me?” He asks as he licks his lips, eyeing mine evidently. 

I straighten up before placing my hand on his thigh. “Jeff, how would you feel about tasting my pussy?” Swallowing back my laugh Jeff is almost unphased by the request as he shuffles in his seat, ignoring the camera entirely. 

“Right here?” He asks as I glance down, seeing his hand creeping closer and closer up my leg. “You know I’ll do it, baby.” He growls under his breath as he leans over, kissing me greedily. 

Pushing him off of me I let out a small laugh. “You’re going to kill me.” I mutter as he stares at me in confusion. “It’s rolling.” 

His eyes widen before he leans forward, glancing up to the viewfinder whilst I quietly sit in the corner of the frame. “Welp.” He mutters. “David, hello. I guess you’re the first to find out so congrats.” He laughs lightly before looking over at me with a warm smile. “Meet my girlfriend, Y/n.” 

[angrylizardjacket]

And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch. 

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter. 

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work. 

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”. 

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now. 

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982. 

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed. 

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board. 

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage. 

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones. 

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour. 

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.” 

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything. 

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay. 

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning. 

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.

[dont-follow-me-im-scared]

My worst goodbye

Per my therapist request im "journaling" breakup I guess. I mean its been a long time coming but this time it was real and needed to this might be long but here goes:

The force,

I dont even know where to start so I'll start from the begining. The night I met you, when I walked into that bar I had no intention of meeting my soul mate. Yes soul mate. I never believed in them until I met you. But after 9 long years ive learned sometimes we meet our soul mate and we dont get to keep them. I had quite a bit to drink, see you didnt know this but I was 19 I just looked old enough to be there and I had gotten divorced a few months before my world would be forever rocked and changed. The night carried on the christmas air was no match for the drink and the long sleeve I had on. I removed layers the more I drank and I stayed close to the bar. This tall man with the bluest eyes id ever seen was taking care of my drink needs but young me saw a mountain I wanted to climb. I was informed you were married when the regulars realized my attention wasnt going anywhere but you. I flashed the bar (dumb kid is probably what you thought) but everyone in there knew it was for you. Hell I said I wouldnt do it unless you were there. The night carried on, my friends were restless trying to protect whatever modesty they felt I had that night. I wanted to go to the after party I was told youd be attending. They refused and wanted to get me home. Closing time was coming. I wrote my number on a napkin and waited. You went back towards the bathrooms and I knew somehow in my awe struck drunken stuper that was my chance. I walked back caught you right at the end of the hall. Do you remember what I said? I can. The words and moment is forever burned into my brain. "I can keep a secret". Slipped my number into your front pocket smooth as fuck. Which isnt me. But you know that right? Because after that night you saw sides of me no one was ever allowed to see. You saw me grow as a person and into a woman. That was the begining of the end. That singular moment with rumple on my breathe as I stood on my tip toes to lean as close to your ear as I could when I spoke those words. I took in how you smelled. I had no idea soon that smell would be my favorite and put my spirit at ease.

I woke up the next morning with a text from an unknown number. Then the conversation started. You filled in the parts of the night that wasnt clear. You made me nervous. A sensation that would never die down. Tuesday. She'll be at work. Dinner and hang out at the house? Sure. I bet you thought you were getting lucky that night. Not as lucky as I was going to be I guess. Because see even though this is a goodbye, and one thats tearing me apart I was so lucky to feel this. Not everyone gets to experience this with anyone in their entire life. You had a young child. Maybe 3 months I think. Timing in the universe is shitty like that. We sat on the couch. Me almost shaking with nerves but trying to keep my calm because I refused to look a fool in front of you. Do you remember what we watched? Big bang theory. And from then on anytime I saw an episode (I never watched it myself) my thoughts would gravitate back to that couch with you. Do you know how hard thats going to be on me now because that shows everywhere. I guess thats not your problem though. We didnt have sex. I was too nervous and I mean I felt like I was going to puke you made me so nervous. But there was a warmth. This tiny spark of a fire that was felt by me at least. We made out alot. But everytime you reached for my belt my gut screamed "No! Not yet" and ive never been one to ignore my gut. I left. I parked my car a few houses down. The late December air felt so cold against my face because my cheeks were burning like id be in the gym. This couldnt be real. I texted you when I got to the end of the street. "Im sorry I couldn't have sex with you I was so nervous if you dont want to meet up again i get it." I expected you to blow me off. I mean you are older and a bartender. I knew in my head what you were use to with women. I had only been with two people my whole life but you. You reeked experience. Then my phone did something that felt magical in the moment. It lit up with that text. That text reassuring me you wanted to see me again. The text that made me float the whole way home.

The visits became more frequent. Sex with you was amazing. You engulfed my body in what seemed like worship. Not one inch of me ignored. Hands and mouth just exploring the new territory. I was more adventurous. I wanted to make you happy in every way possible. Theres a need inside me to make sure youre happy. There's this new feeling like in a woman and not just some highschooler whos date is trying to get lucky. Theres a chemistry unmatched and indescribable in all honesty. It happened on the couch. The 2nd time I saw you. You carried my straddling body to your room all that was on was my unbutton jeans and your jeans. Your arms lifted me with such ease I gasped. I remember. See how much I remember. Your bedroom smelt like soap and the sheets smelled clean. The only light in the room was the green from the clock by your bed. Then before I knew it your mouth was where no other mans had been. You gave me a new experience I had been deprived of before. Then you were inside of me when I felt like my body was going to stop. Laying there after wards, your hands playing with my spine while we had small conversations in between sighs I considered if this could be forever. I knew right then you were different. I knew we were different. I knew there was something in my way but never desired to remove it. Your kiss at the front door when I was leaving had a longing. Like you didnt want to send me away. It was dark. The neighbors didnt know but as bright as I felt like I was shinning I wondered if they were peering out of the windows to see the source. Was any of this real for you? I dont think I want the answer because it was so real for me. This all sounds crazy. You're married and I knew but here I was.

It got to where id barley make it through your unlocked door without you scoping me up like youd waited all week to get your hands on me. The text in between visits didnt seem like enough any more. So I started doing what any logical in love person would do. I started getting hotel rooms and going to the bar on the weekends. I had to see you more. Hear your voice. See you smile at me from across that bar knowing I was picturing having you under me on every surface there. It made it fun right? Like we had a huge secret right in front of everyone. Including your sister in law who bartended with you some nights. It was a rush right? Knowing I was going to be in that weed infused hotel room half drunk mostly stoned in the see through black robe you love(d) so much. Knowing there was nothing between me and you but this thin fabric. Do you think people could see it on our faces? Your friends became mine because I was at the bar so often but none of them knew. Our conversations grew and we became friends who just happen to explode with this chemistry. It was more than what it had been but that was the most itd ever be. Remember the Halloween you dressed at a 20s gangster. Remeber the red dress i rushed into the bar in on new years eve so I could kiss you by midnight. Do you remember taking me in your arms around my waist and kissing me in front of everyone? I'll never forget because that was a moment where I thought this is how it could be. I met you for lunches. I met you at quicktrips for a five minute visit. Boyfriends came and went but you never left. I kept you around. Remember the apartments down the street I moved into so I could be closer. You whistling while I was waiting at my open front door. That smile. You nuzzling me after on the balcony while i smoked. I hated you had to leave me every time. You lingered in my door hesitant to walk away. The good thing about me living so close is you got to spend more time with me.

I stated you were my soul mate. I mean it. I have forever missed my chance with the one person I truly believe was made for me. All because a year of timing. You told me so many times had it not been for your baby youd leave. I believed you. I love my husband and my daughter but no one will ever light the fire you did inside me and still do. Which is why I need to walk away. Youre a source of confusion in my life. I cant allow myself to question if my relationships right because I dont have the feeling I did with you. Does that make me bad? I dont think so. I love him and dont want to hurt him which is why I have to do this. Cutting an imprint with you is one of the hardest things ive had to do but hurting him would be harder. I'll never forget a million things about you. Memories with you. I honestly hope you'll never forget me. I wish I could tell my daughter about you one day and how she never needs to settle unless someone makes her feel like you made me feel.

Love always

Youre biggest fan.

[fuckthegovfucklove]

The Love Ideology: What is love?

Trying to define love is a bloody tiring mission encumbered by vagueness, contradictions and inconsistencies. So I’m not going to attempt to define the word but rather look at some of the different shapes love comes in within interpersonal relationships.

I want to look at the different types of love, the function of each, the power dynamics that exist and their relevance as a basis to share my speculative thoughts on the wider implications of love in later posts.

Loving is touted as a necessity, a source of joy and an objectively good thing for humanity. I’m not so sure I agree and I think a counter-argument against love is useful in redirecting our focus to more urgent issues and developing critical thought, or at the very least being more conscious of the way you love (if you must).

I briefly look at self love, romantic love, platonic love and familial love from a mainstream (western) perspective since that’s what's most prevalent and all I know anyway. Love is not confined to interpersonal relationships and critique of it can be extended to sentiments like unwaveringly love for homeland (patriotism), love for a public figure (idolatry), love for an ideology (cultism).

You’ll find that in every case where love is referred to, it could easily be replaced by a more revealing synonym.

Self love

I know your familiar with this one, we rave on about it all the time. It’s being content with who you are, knowing your “worth” (you see the capitalist undertones too right?). Some call it a radical self-acceptance and according to John Kim the ‘life coach’, self love looks like this:

“When you get to a place where you like yourself, the action of loving yourself will come more naturally. You’ll have non-negotiables. You won’t tolerate certain behaviour from others. You’ll seek less approval. Your friendships will be less lopsided. You won’t have as many holes to fill within you. You’ll be more gentle with yourself, more forgiving. You’ll believe you deserve more, better, different. You’ll finally stop breaking the promises you’ve made with you. And the relationship you have with yourself will improve. “

Ah so, curing all the problems caused by love (and capitalism) with more.. love? Think about why you do what you do. You compromise because you love, tolerate because you love, seek approval because you want love, your love is quantifiable and isn’t always reciprocated, love told you you need it feel whole, to love you must forgive, you deserve love.

Is loving yourself enough in a capitalist world that measures your social worth on how full your cup of love is? (think about the [profitable] factors that determine this too). Will the inferiority complex completely dissipate? If you walk out on the expectations of this here capitalist world perhaps, but abandoning the pursuit of love might be a quicker route.

“You can’t love somebody else until you love yourself“ is a widely known cliché typically used in a romantic context. Some critique the adage saying self-love isn’t actually a precondition for loving others, clinical psychologist Leon F. Seltzer proposes a better alternative: “To deepen your love and acceptance of another, first develop love and acceptance for yourself.” Interesting. I still think theres a semblance of truth in the former that could easily be extrapolated to other types of love.

See loving the Other can only be done by identifying parts of yourself within them and seeing qualities in them that you like. It’s impossible to imagine what loving something entirely disconnected from us looks like because everything is in some way connected to self. We extend ourselves to the object of our love so that by loving the Other we are also loving ourselves. Kierkegaard calls this ‘self-love’. Loving your partner is loving self, loving your friend is loving self, loving your family is loving self, loving your nation is loving self, loving the environment is loving self, loving an ideology is loving self; no matter how selfless or sacrificial the nature. Thus, I have made the cheeky decision to sub them all under this title.

Romantic love

The most sought after, most regulated, most distracting and arguably the most delusional of loves. Romance is where we can write our own fiction and relies on our own imagination to create a world where it can function. Driven by our libidinal desires, we seek to conquer the heart of another. Our romantic interests becoming personified virtues who make us feel like we’ve never felt before (until they don’t).

It is here we are forced to learn a gender and organise our desires around them. Our bizarre sex-sentimentality makes romantic love a safe space to be completely uninhibited. Eroticism is confined to the couple as is building a life project (cohabitation, economic merging, child-rearing).

We have a set criteria of what we look for in a partner (our fantasy), too busy setting up our Tinder to question why our list is identical to the next persons and what is informing these ~ preferences ~. The success of romantic interactions are contingent upon the degree to which projective identification is continually effective, that is when a person projects their fantasy onto another so that they feel inclined or pressured to fall in line with the projective fantasy. In romance, this is typically one of amour passion where by confessing your feelings the other now hopefully joins you in this romantic fantasy.

We must then commit to this person, overcommit then merge. The merging process frequently comes with the dissolution of autonomy and boundaries because complete trust in the other is a requirement. We simultaneously create rules and install dependencies to solidify this union because subconsciously we know that love is not enough to keep two together.

Unpaid labour is an intrinsic part of romantic love and it’s usually gendered - maintaining a healthy relationship requires work (cishet women and those taking the role of woman/femme/more domesticised doing most of the labour). So is it that we enjoy working 9-5 + unpaid overtime or do the promised benefits of coupledom outweigh the cons?

Those who opt for singledom and see no sense in romantic love are considered immature or are diagnosed with the infamous disorder the therapists call ‘fear of intimacy’. Those who are single by circumstances are told that “the one“ will soon come and/or are often pitied. The social worth of an individual increases when they are in a couple as the partner is pretty much considered personal property.

Unions formed on the basis of romantic love are the only ones that are eligible to sign a contract with the state (think about why) and in exchange are afforded a multitude of benefits from adoption rights and tax deductions to immigration and residency for partners from other countries. These unions, called marriage, are usually accompanied by an expensive celebration party where friends and family are expected to attend and bring gifts.

So what is the purpose of romantic love and why do we desire it? Lynn Paramore sums it up.

“Romantic love is not based on companionship, but on the feeling of being desired. This kind of love appears to give us the opportunity, just as money does, to constantly remake ourselves, to project new version of our lives. It’s about longing, fleeting highs, the same stimulation we feel in buying a new car, a new wardrobe. As the married couple’s romantic attraction wanes, the need for stimulation is transferred to the next big purchase, the washing machine, the wide-screen TV. Capitalism goes humming along.”

Platonic love

Where there’s romance, love is expected to consume you. Friendships aren’t similarly expected to be as emotionally weighty and intoxicating; we expect support in good times and bad, someone to laugh, gossip and cry with and a companion to embark on new adventures with. We hope for our friendships to last long but don’t spend as much time deliberating about our future, we truly live in the present with those we consider friends.

These relationships are usually built off of shared values and interests, and an appreciation of the stark realities of the individual characters. They aren’t typically sought after but are formed by being in the right place at the right time. Friendships usually have no issue respecting autonomy, there’s something more rational and ethical about the bond. The voluntarist nature of the entanglements allow this and in comparison to romantic love, platonic love expects little.

The performative actions designed to win affection that are part and parcel of romance are left at the door. Platonic love isn’t devoid of affection but arbitrary limits are put in place e.g sexual intercourse. According popular culture sex ruins a friendship (loooool). Friends do typically seek a level of validation and affirmation from their peers, considerably higher (from my observations) for those socialised as men.

While platonic love doesn’t demand the cognitive bending that romantic love does, it’s similar in the sense that it’s love through favouritism. We give preferential treatment to those who favour us even in situations where logically we would do otherwise. It is expected of us. Platonic love however does not hold the same social value as romantic love and friendships are often “demoted“ once a new romantic interest takes the stage. Andrew Sullivan voiced his disapproval on this common practice:

“The great modern enemy of friendship has turned out to be love. By love, I don't mean the principle of giving and mutual regard that lies at the heart of friendship [but] love in the banal, ubiquitous, compelling, and resilient modern meaning of love: the romantic love that obliterates all other goods, the love to which every life must apparently lead, the love that is consummated in sex and celebrated in every particle of our popular culture, the love that is institutionalized in marriage and instilled as a primary and ultimate good in every Western child...We live in a world, in fact, in which respect and support for eros (romantic love) has acquired the hallmarks of a cult. “

Familial love

Familial love presents in a lot of arrangements. Between two individuals it can be a progression from platonic love or romantic love (though they can coexist). It’s a fondness born out of familiarity, dependency, mutual protection and non-judgmental support. Family can also describe a group of people you share similar experiences and rituals with, such as a church family or work family.

The primal familial love, the “blood is thicker than water“ love that is somewhat universal refers to the instinctual affection and protection we show to those with blood (shared genetics/common ancestors) and perhaps legal bonds (legally bound through adoption/guardianship). The love of a parent towards offspring and vice versa. Or extended blood family. With familial love theres an inherent hierarchy: offspring, spouse, parents-siblings, extended blood family and then other forms of family if chosen. I will refer to familial love as what exists between parent and offspring henceforth as it customarily obliterates the rest.

This familial love conventionally implies unconditional, ultra-protective, “I’d die for you“ love towards child. It’s not given according to their personal qualities (although once they’re no longer a minor it often weakens) and if a child should stray on the wrong path the parent will most likely do everything in their power to save them. The family is the nuclear of civilisation and the most basic unit of society. The education of almost all starts in the family, particularly character and moral education.

The familial love of a parent is one of duty and protection, and for the child it’s one of dependance and trust. As parents are the legal guardians of children, they position themselves as the authority and the child recognises them as such. Parents have a wider understanding of society and often try balance preserving a child’s innocence (I often wonder why) whilst making them aware of the “real world”. In order to ensure a child obeys them and trusts that they know what's best for them they often remind the child that there’s bad people out there that do bad things i.e “don’t talk to strangers, they could kidnap you“. Children are then obliged to submit to the parental safety that the home provides, whilst also being dependent on their parent for sustenance.

Familial love is assumed to be natural and present in all. It’s blasphemy to confess you do not love your parents or you do not love your child. In situations of conflict, familial love is supposed water down any malice, and forgiveness/reconciliation should follow. The family is expected to have your best interest at heart at all time and familial love is thought of as permanent, parents often say things along the lines of: “Your family remains even when everyone leaves“. Loyalty and favouritism is therefore expected and should also trump that of friends and romantic partners.

Many choose to reproduce. They get to experience the reverse of child-parent familial love where they are the ones in authority and build a life project from that. Why do people choose to have children? Some of the reasons people give range from: looking to find a sense of purpose, familism, pressure from peers and family, belief that it is your duty to continue your biological lineage etc. A growing number of people are choosing not to reproduce usually because they aren’t interested in parenting or bringing more people into the world (voluntary childlessness/anti-natalism).

Humanaesfera suggests a political explanation for the desire to create a family:

“Since the emergence of capitalism (ie, the industrial capital, the proletariat and the modern state, simultaneously, eighteenth century), the familism is the central fetish by which the proletarians (ie, those deprived of the property of any means of life) accept willingly to engage in maintaining and improving the enterprise and the government, creating and accumulating with dedication the very hostile power that systematically subjugates them, wears out them, recycles them, discards them and abandons them - the capital. This is because they place their libido (cathexis), their desires, in the family, pseudo capitalist property in which they fantasize are accumulating their own capital on a par with the capitalists. This leads them to support the ruling class and the police, that is, the state as guarantor of this fictitious property.”

[hi-its-namjin-anon]

Get Some Rest

    Jin woke up early in the morning to a pounding headache and nausea practically overwhelming him. He clambered out of his bed and hurried into the bathroom, every step making his head throb. He’d barely dropped to his knees in front of the toilet when a thick, foul-tasting wave of bile forced its way up his throat. He gagged and retched, cringing at the sound of vomit splashing into the water. It was all he could do to keep the sounds he made fairly quiet so he didn’t wake the other boys. He kept throwing up, unable to stop no matter how hard he tried to hold it back, and he desperately hoped nobody else was awake. He had to be strong for them. He couldn’t be sick.        Finally, after what felt like forever, it was over, and Jin drew a shaky breath and rested his forehead on the toilet seat. Tears were running down his face and his whole body was shaky and weak and his throat was burning and he just felt awful. After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly threw up again when he saw how utterly disgusting all the vomit looked, and then, after taking a moment to steady himself, he cleaned up and shuffled back to bed. His head still hurt, but he managed to fall asleep.         “Jin-hyung,” a voice said, dragging him out of his slumber a few hours later. Jin groaned and blinked his eyes open to see Yoongi standing over him. He still felt like shit, but at least his headache had gone away.         “Hi, Yoon,” Jin mumbled. “Go away. I wanna sleep more.”         “No, hyung, you have to get up,” Yoongi said. “Busy day today, remember? We have dance practice and then-”         “Oh, yeah.” Jin really didn’t want to do anything active, especially not first thing in the morning, but he didn’t have a choice. The group’s schedule was busy whether he liked it or not. He decided to just tough it out. He’d be okay.         “Yeah. Come on, time to get up.”         “Okay, okay.”         Yoongi left the room, and Jin tried to muster up the strength to get out of bed. He ended up closing his eyes again, and the next thing he knew Namjoon was there, shaking him awake.         “Jinnie,” the younger man said. “Come on, you need to get up. We’re gonna be late. Wake up.” He tugged Jin’s covers off and pulled him up into a sitting position. Jin groaned and wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s waist, burying his face in his boyfriend’s stomach.         “I don’t wanna do stuff,” he mumbled. “I didn’t sleep well last night. What time did I go to sleep? One? I’m not sure. And then I woke up again and-” He broke off, remembering that he didn’t want to mention that he was sick. “Yeah. I’m tired.”         “Aw, baby, were you practicing late again?”         “Yeah.”         “Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now, but tonight I’ll be sure to hold you and make sure you get enough sleep. You’ll feel better once you’re up and moving around, too. And then when we get home we can take a nap, alright?” He ruffled Jin’s hair affectionately. “For now you’ve gotta get up, though.”         “Alright. I’ll get up.”         And he actually did get up that time. The sick feeling in his stomach didn’t go away, and neither did the exhaustion that had settled itself over him like a weighted blanket. But he got ready and didn’t complain, even though the car ride was hell and he felt awful.         If Jin thought the car ride was bad, dance practice was even worse. Every motion made his stomach churn and he was still so exhausted. He had gotten away with skipping breakfast by just pretending he’d had something, but he still felt sick.         “Can we pause?” He asked after what felt like hours but was really only around thirty minutes. “I need to go to the bathroom.”         “Yeah,” the instructor replied. “Go ahead.”         Jin thanked him and left the room, and as soon as he was out he ran down the hall to the bathroom. He felt like he needed to throw up again. He collapsed halfway there, though, crumpling to the floor as his legs gave out. He stayed there for a minute, savoring the cool tile, and then he got up again and made his way - walking this time - into the bathroom. He locked the door and sat down in front of the toilet wanting to just get it over with, but nothing came up. He heaved a few times, but nothing happened. He just felt nauseous, he realized.         He splashed some water from the sink on his face and returned to the practice room, and they resumed their rigorous dancing. After an hour, they had another break, and not a moment too soon, because Jin could already feel the nausea rising again. He hurried off to the bathroom, but Yoongi beat him to it. Desperate, he raced off and found an empty room, where he threw up in a trash can. Then he leaned back, gasping for breath, and wiped away his tears. He couldn’t get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth, but at least he looked okay and wasn’t about to puke in the middle of whatever choreography they’d be going over next. With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet and returned to the practice room.         “Jin,” Taehyung said. “Here, have some water. You look thirsty.” He held out a bottle of water, and Jin realized just how dehydrated he was, especially after vomiting twice. He hadn’t had anything to drink since the first round of sickness that morning. He gratefully accepted the water and downed it all at once. It made his stomach churn and gurgle unhappily, but he needed to stay hydrated.         He made it through another hour of dance practice, although he felt like his legs would give out at any moment and the headache from that night was starting to return alongside the ever-present queasiness. As soon as they had another break, he headed for the bathroom again, but as he approached the door of the practice room he started to feel even weaker than before. Dizziness took over, and it took all his strength to keep from stumbling too obviously as he left the room. Once he was out in the hall, though, the dizziness suddenly increased tenfold, and the next thing Jin knew he was laying facedown on the floor. His head was spinning and when he tried to push himself up into a sitting position his arms gave out. Behind him, the door to the practice room opened again and someone stepped out into the hall.         “Oh my god,” he heard Namjoon gasp. “Seokjin! Seokjinnie!” The rapper was suddenly kneeling by his side, looking horrified.         “Namjoon,” Jin replied weakly. Namjoon rested a hand on his forehead but then pulled it back when he realized that Jin was still hot and sweaty from dancing so it would be hard to see if he had a fever.         “Jinnie, sweetie, what happened? Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”         “I was walking and then suddenly I was on the floor and now I don’t feel strong enough to get up. I’m not feeling so good today,” he admitted, swallowing his pride and ignoring his desire to not be a burden.         ��Can you elaborate?” Namjoon asked desperately.         “Uh, yeah,” Jin replied. “It started really early this morning when I threw up the first time, and then I went to sleep and then when I woke up I still felt bad and I threw up again during our last break and I still felt bad and now here we are.”         “And you didn’t tell anyone?”         “I didn’t want to be a burden…”         “Jinnie, you gotta tell us when you’re not feeling good,” Namjoon said. “We’ve told you, you’re not a burden. Everyone gets sick. You just need to let us know.” He ran a hand through Jin’s sweat-drenched hair. “Here, let me get you some water. I’ll be right back.” He stood and hurried back into the practice room. “Guys, Jin’s sick,” Jin heard him say. “I found him in the hall on the floor.”         “Is he conscious?” Jimin asked.         “Yeah. He told me this started early this morning and he’s thrown up twice. I don’t know what’s wrong but it sounds like he fainted just now.”         Namjoon returned with a bottle of water in his hand. The other members and their dance instructor were following him, and they all knelt beside him.         “Jungkook-ah,” Namjoon said, “run and get him a damp paper towel or something for his face. Instructor-nim, can you grab a fan? Hoseok, go let someone else know, okay? Jimin and Tae, stay here. Yoongi, go grab some more water.”         Everyone hurried off to do as they were told, and Namjoon lifted the water he was holding to Jin’s lips. Jin gladly drank it, savoring the feeling of the cold liquid in his mouth. Taehyung ran a gentle hand through his hair and Jimin rubbed his back. Yoongi returned with two more bottles of water, and then he rested a cool hand on Jin’s forehead. The dance instructor came back with an electric fan. Tears started to roll down Jin’s cheeks, dripping onto the floor.         “Oh, Jinnie, don’t cry,” Namjoon murmured. He gently wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “You’ll be okay.”         “I’m just causing problems for y-” Jin cut himself off with a violent gag, and the next thing he knew he was coughing and practically choking on bile and water. Taehyung and Yoongi helped him prop himself up on his arms, holding him up as he heaved and retched and vomited on the floor. The dance instructor hurried off to grab a trash can, but by the time he returned Jin had already gotten everything out of his stomach. Jungkook returned with a handful of damp paper towels, and Namjoon took a couple and used them to wipe up Jin’s lips and chin.         “We should get him to a hospital,” Yoongi said. “He doesn’t look so good.”         “Yeah,” Namjoon agreed. “Let’s wait for Hoseok to get back and then we’ll figure everything out. Hey, hey, Jinnie, don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”         Hoseok returned, followed by Bang PD-nim and a pair of young women Jin recognized as some of the medical staff members. Namjoon explained the situation and they quickly looked over Jin. When they couldn’t find what was wrong, they advised the group to take him to the hospital. Jin ended up sitting in the back of PD-nim’s car, cradled in Namjoon’s arms. Namjoon had him drink a few sips of water periodically so he would stay hydrated, and eventually they made it to the hospital, where it was determined that Jin was just seriously overworked, that he was so exhausted his body couldn’t function right, and that he’d be okay as long as he got some rest as soon as possible. Namjoon texted the other boys, who had stayed at the studio on the orders of the staff, and told them that everything was fine and he’d be going home with Jin.         Thirty minutes later, Jin was curled up in his bed, cuddled up against Namjoon. The younger man’s arms were warm and comforting, making Jin realize just how tired he really was. His bones suddenly felt like lead, but Namjoon was there. Namjoon was helping him to feel better.         “You gonna be okay, baby?” Namjoon asked, running a hand down Jin’s spine.         “Yeah, I think so,” Jin replied. “I hope so.”         “Good. Get some sleep now, okay? And try to limit your late-night dance practice sessions in the future.” He pulled Jin closer and started humming, and despite the fact that Jin still felt sick and tired and all-around awful, he finally drifted off into blissful unconsciousness.

[boojersey]

VIC DO ALL THE ASKS BC I LOVE U AND WANT U TO HAVE FUN

*SWEATS* AYE AYE CAPN

cw for like some common lgbt+ topics such as dysphoria violence discrimination etc just. tread carefully if u get triggered easily by bad lgbt experiences

What do you identify as and what are your pronouns? -im a gay trans man and my pronouns are he/him but they/them is also acceptable!

How did you discover your sexuality, tell your story?-oh wow i originally thought i was a lesbian because i didnt even know what transgender was i just thought wishing i was a man meant i was butch and then i met my friend donnie in eighth grade who told me he was trans and it was kinda a huge slap in the face but with a sack of gay bricks? and i found out i dont like women through actually having sex with cis women and finally realizing it. really wasnt for me so now im just a gay man as opposed to queer as an umbrella term but i periodically refer to myself as such

Have you experienced being misgendered? What happened and how did you overcome it?-oh yea i literally was misgendered today i just kinda brush it off but it can be hard sometimes especially when people know im trans and do it

Who was the first person you told, how did they react?-i first told donnie about my gender, it was a thing where i went to bed the night i met him and was like  .. wait holy fuck and then the next day i was like BRO HOLY FUCK but sexuality? i dont really know???? it was so long ago it was honestly probably my group of friends on kik that i had in 2013 (u were included in that mister!!!!)

Describe what it was like coming out, what did you feel?-im not actually fully out but the first time someone who was an adult knew about my trans-ness was what really set in for me the fact that i could come out one day; my friends mom referred to me as seance (and like. obviously she respected my gender she has a trans kid) but it was just super jarring bc no adult had known yet abt my identity in any way and as a result i was rlly glad it was nighttime in that car bc i cried almost immediately; the first time i came out on my Own was to my cousin and he laughed in my face so that was pretty damn awful and its kinda funny cuz the bastard is bi so u would think hed have been accepting but n0pe!

If you’re out, how did your parents/guardians/friends react?-im out to my friends now ! and the reception was generally positive bc i think i do an ok job at picking ppl to be around in terms of morals so there was little bad reception

What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?-i hate when ppl ask if im gay as in for men or gay as in for women because im trans, i am a man so when i say im gay i feel like that should be easy enough to put 2 and 2 together but when they ask that i feel as if they still view me as a woman

Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.-emo of the gods themselves it is absolute scene and emo vomit and i love it; its seriously hard for me to wear dresses and skirts without dysphoria and just general discomfort but i own a couple anyway bc theyre cute i just. never wear them

Who are your favourite lgbt+ ships?-my main thing at the moment is gerard/frank/grant morrison bc i love poly fics very dearly and gerard/bert because bert mccracken deserved better than gerawrds internalized homophobia lol

What does makeup mean to you? Do you wear any?-makeup to me is an androgynous thing so i wear eyeshadow a lot and lipstick sometimes, eyeshadow is easier on my eyes than eyeliner bc im allergic to a lot of makeup thats on the heavier side so if i put on eyeliner my eyes will water and burn throughout the day but with eyeshadow im mostly ok; other opinion is that makeup on Anyone can be sexy as hell if they do it for fun and wear literally what they truly want and not just what they think is accepted or what they Should wear

Do you experience dysphoria? If so, how does that affect you?-oh yeah my dysphoria is pretty debilitating if im gonna be honest; i used to have very little problems with it because my hold on reality was loose at best (before i was medicated to clarify) but now that i am almost completely Here my dysphoria is pretty bad and even just like. the knowledge that i have breasts is pretty awful; a few weeks ago i put on an outfit that i have to wear a victorias secret bra to fit properly in and just one look in the mirror had me sobbing and i had to change my clothes before i could leave the house and i havent worn a bra since because just the thought of showing off my chest makes this stark fuckin dread shoot through my veins but i also have dysphoria in regards to my voice that i discussed at my last trans therapy group meeting actually ; my voice has a tendency to bounce around my octave range so sometimes ill be like. excited then hear what i sound like. and ruin it for myself immediately u kno? im not even gonna talk about my dicksphoria bc thats just. awful. 

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?-ohhhhhhhh my god u know what? ive heard..so much .. that im gonna instead take this opportunity to mention my mother genuinely thinks dnd is satanic

What’s your favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-the fact that were so strong. we are so fucking strong we deal with violence and opposition constantly and at staggering rates yet we stay strong and we continue loving through all of it, whether its in dark corners in secret or loudly in the streets we continue loving and do so with all of our beings because we know its our own truth and well gladly go to hell if it means we got to love on earth (not that everyone believes in hell or the idea that us gays go to hell but my point stands)

What’s your least favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-we have this audacity to create divide (to the fault of mostly cis white gay men thank u very much) when what we need to do is love each other because we are different but at the end of the day we all need to remain in tandem and as a family or we will never get to where we need to in terms of acceptance and that means being uplifting and protecting our trans sisters of color, our disabled lgbt members, our autistic lgbt members, our anything past cis white gay man because we all need recognition, we all need love, and to exclude any letters of lgbt is to tear ourselves down and set ourselves on fire

Have you ever been to your cities pride event? Why or why not?-no :((( no one would drive me in the past and i dont think ill have a way to get there this year either

Who is your favourite lgbt+ Icon/Advocate/Celebrity?-brian molko! my bisexual, androgynistically-inclined father who birthed me at the tender age of 16 when i found placebo

Have you been in a relationship and how did you meet?-ya theres been a few and i dont rlly like to talk abt my relationships with anyone unless theyre online relationships so im just gonna leave it at that

What is your favourite lgbt+ book?-pantomime by laura lam! its one of if not my favorite book to this day

Have you ever faced discrimination? What happened?-y a every damn day bitch ! example is when i was deadnamed by my psychiatrist while she knows full well what my name is the other day; another is the countless times i get called a lesbian ???? and when strict lesbians ask me out i get a very bad taste in my mouth (i understand full well that sexuality is fluid, these are lesbians that spit the ‘penis is gross blegh’ rhetoric)

Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?-uh im just gonna say preacher bc its my favorite show altogether n cass is bi/pan/something similar

Who are some of your favourite lgbt+ bloggers?-@ble3dmagic is my boyfriend in crime (not rlly thats a joke) and @musicalsense​ is my sunburnt Brother

Which lgbt+ slur do you want to reclaim?-queer! i also use f*ggot a lot when talking about myself and my friends that are ok with it

Have you ever gone to a gay bar, or a drag show, how was it?-i went to a drag show and it was so amazing and one of the first times i felt accepted in my own community that i cried

How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that mean to you?-well i identify as a man with no leaning towards womanhood or nonbinaryhood in any way, its just . man . but in terms of Expression i am quite androgynous bc i can rlly appreciate femininity (NOT the same as womanhood) and being a man to me means just that ive always wanted to grow up with that “gender role” like i always wish i was raised as a stereotypical parent would raise a son and ive always been more interested in stereotypically masculine things and people since i can even remember and i feel like puberty was just this unpreventable spiral into something i didnt want. i didnt want it at all . this is tmi but when i got my first period i cried my eyes out bc the idea of being called a Woman repulsed me so much and since i didnt even know that being trans was a concept i was just this scared puppy full of confusion and fear aimed at myself because all the stuff i heard i was supposed to be proud of the change but i wasnt i was so ashamed of it and the idea of being called a woman made me sick to my stomach and i just wish i could go back in time and hold myself and tell me itll be alright 

Are you interested in having children? Why or why not?-absoLutely not i hate kids (and by that i mean i hate being around them and the culture that surrounds having children; i do not treat kids like shit and i do not act like hating children is a personality trait; i get migraines and usually the second a child starts screaming or crying i am on the floor of my brain writhing in dire pain and i have absolutely no desire to support another human life when frankly i cant even support myself; its also just not a lifestyle i want to live)

What identity advice would you give your younger self?-god so fucking much. so fucking much. so many things i wish i could say to myself

What do you think of gender roles in relationships?-i think if someone wants to adhere to them then hell yea go ahead just dont expect others to do it or try to tell other people its a Norm or something; theyre for the most part christian in nature so i dont have any desire to follow them myself, i want a relationship (if any) thats more of a coexistence if that makes sense, like. roommates plus dick

Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?-i always used to anxiously chew on the idea that my chest dysphoria is just me holding disdain for the shape and size of my breasts but let me tell you. the second i put on my binder for the first time i immediately started crying because i was so overwhelmed by the fact that i was looking at something one step closer to myself and i know full well i am never going to have that doubt again. this week has been exponentially cathartic and therapeutic for me

What is something you wish people know about being lgbt+?-i want the cisheteros to know that nothing they learn about us is new. everything about us has been around for so so long but has been silenced and erased to the point where a lot of us dont even know many things about our rich and beautiful history

Why are proud to be lgbt+?-honestly? its hard for me to not just straight up say im not proud of my identity. its taken me years to stamp down the plain grieving toward my identity and wishing i could have the easier path but frankly? the fact that i am choosing this path of hardship and hell on earth just to be who i truly am i think speaks volumes of my pride in my identity at this point; further back in my archive by a few years my posts are littered with sentiments of bitterness wherein i stated that i hate being trans and not just cis but i like to think ive finished hating myself for my identity. i like to think im proud now. to ask me why is to ask too much of me, all i know now is that i am proud and thats enough for me right now.